Sherlock: Jawn
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: Sherlock likes a lot of things; experiments, swearing in French, and proving that he's smarter than everybody else. But his absolute favourite thing is his best friend, John Watson. See warnings inside.
1. Ten-Years-Old

**SHERLOCK**

**JAWN**

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**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

**Side Pairing: **Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

**About: **I got a lovely comment about my young!Johnlock on "Give Me A Label" from **Sunshine Through The Storm**. And then I wrote this. Basically young!Johnlock, with Sherlock and John being adorable, and Mrs Hudson being the very best thing _ever_, with some teen!Mystrade thrown in.

**Warnings: **Explicit sexual content in later chapters, explicit language, mentions of child abuse and violence, homophobia, underage drinking/smoking

**Disclaimer: **Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

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**Written For: **Sunshine Through The Storm

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**Note: **This was originally a one-shot (just the first chapter) but after some demands it turned into a multiple-chapter story. It follows Sherlock and John from ten-years-old to eighteen-years-old.

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**PART I**

**Ten-Years-Old**

Ten-year-old Sherlock thought that the new nanny- Mrs Hudson- would be like all the others. He thought she'd shout at him for being loud, smart, weird, and for his various experiments. The last one had even slapped him when he'd managed to completely destroy the dining room table after playing around with his older brother's science equipment.

Though Mycroft had been annoyed with the younger Holmes for taking his stuff- _and _for destroying a priceless table- he'd been furious with the woman. After shouting at her for laying a hand on his brother, and threatening to completely destroy her life with his various contacts, the seventeen-year-old had grabbed the middle-aged woman by her arm and violently tossed her out the door.

Siger Holmes hadn't been happy either. Though he was barely around to take care of his sons, and hadn't really been a constant in their lives, even before their mother died, Siger drew the line at raising a hand to his children. He'd had the woman fired from her agency, her assets frozen, and the last Sherlock heard she'd been shipped off to America to never again work with children.

Sometimes it was fun being a Holmes.

The only downside was that now the boys needed a new nanny. Of course, Mycroft was seventeen; he didn't need anyone to take care of him. But between studying for his A-Levels, applying to various universities, and sneaking his boyfriend Greg into the house at night, Mycroft didn't have time to take care of his brother.

So, a new nanny was needed.

Sherlock always claimed he could take care of himself. And he could, honest. He just forgot that he was ten; he was still too short to reach the taps in the large kitchen. He couldn't reach the freezer or microwave either. And dragging chairs across the expansively tiled floor was a big no-no.

Sherlock also forgot that he was a growing boy and needed three meals a day, proper rest, and to actually open his school bag and do his homework. He needed an adult to remind him of, and get him to do, these things. He also needed someone to watch him when John Watson wasn't around.

John Watson was the same age as Sherlock, only a few months older. He and his family- a nurse mother, soldier father, and high school-aged sister- had moved to the neighbourhood two years earlier. Sherlock and John had immediately hit it off, and though it had confused Mycroft and Siger (both knew that Sherlock was just a bit too smart to get along with people his own age), the two older Holmeses had seen the arrival of John Watson as a blessing.

For some reason, John got Sherlock. He understood that he was brilliant, amazing, and really a good kid. He said things like, 'Brilliant,' when Sherlock came up with and carried out a new experiment. He laughed when Sherlock flounced around dramatically and called people, 'Stupid.' He stood up for Sherlock and smacked other kids when they teased or bullied the younger Holmes.

John Watson was a delightful, kind, and smart little boy.

And he was Sherlock's best friend.

Sherlock was brought from his thoughts by a knock at the door and he scowled. That'd be the new nanny, then. Siger had rushed out of the large manor house three hours earlier, kissing Sherlock atop his messy black head and telling him to behave.

Mycroft had been standing off to the side sucking back on a cigarette- yet again- and had just rolled his eyes when his father told him to stop smoking. Mycroft was still in the "stupidly cliché rebellious stage" of his teenage years. At least that's what Sherlock called it.

Mycroft stubbed his cigarette out in the glass ashtray he'd been using for years and walked across the wooden floorboards, sneakered footsteps echoing softly around the vast room. Sherlock folded his arms and put on his best "I hate you" face as Mycroft opened the large wooden door.

Sherlock rolled his eyes when he saw that it was Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft's boyfriend. The other teenager was tall and skinny, with a head of messy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. His skin seemed to be permanently tanned despite living in good old England and his boyish smile was enough to make Mycroft melt.

Sherlock poked his tongue out as he watched the two older teenagers start to eat each other's faces. He didn't understand why anyone would want to kiss anyone else, man or woman. Mycroft had come out when he was sixteen- Sherlock had been nine- and since then he'd been dating Gregory Lestrade.

There were now soft sucking sounds and moans, as well as the clink of the two chains hanging from Greg's jeans jerking together as the teenagers made out. Mycroft groped for the door and slammed it shut, never once moving away from Greg's lips.

Honestly, what the hell was the matter with them? Sherlock thought. All they ever did was kiss and grope each other and have sex (Sherlock's bedroom was next to Mycroft's, and the younger Holmes spent half his time banging on the walls telling them to shut it).

There was another knock on the door and Mycroft and Greg broke apart, both flushed and panting slightly.

'Sorry, I have to meet with the new nanny,' Mycroft said.

Greg groaned and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist. 'Can't Sherlock do it?' he whined. 'I wanna make out.'

Sherlock made a choking noise but the two ignored him. 'I'll just be a minute, then we can go out,' Mycroft promised. Greg grinned and pecked his boyfriend on the lips before letting Mycroft go.

Mycroft walked back to the door and opened it, revealing a tall woman with sandy-coloured hair, and a ten-year-old boy.

John Watson was short for his age, with light brown hair and large, dark blue eyes. He was wearing jeans and a red-and-white striped jumper, his fingers currently twisting in the soft fabric.

'Hello, John, Mrs Watson,' Mycroft greeted.

'Hi, Mycroft,' the woman smiled. 'Sorry about this, but I was wondering if you could watch John for the day? Hamish has a doctor's appointment and Harry ran off to God knows where at five am.'

'Of course,' Mycroft said, wiping discreetly at his slightly swollen lips. Mrs Watson noticed and looked past Mycroft to see Greg.

'Hello, Greg,' she smiled.

'Mrs Watson,' Greg smiled back, a faint blush working across his cheeks.

Sherlock had been lost in thought- wondering about the new nanny, how his current experiment would turn out when he stuck it in the microwave, whether or not he could interrupt Mycroft and Greg's afternoon together to ensure his brother got _really _mad- and was brought out of them at the sound of Mrs Watson's voice.

He immediately slid from the sofa and raced across the foyer, feet pounding against the floorboards as he swung into view of the front door.

His face broke out into a massive grin, blue eyes wide with delight, and he practically shouted, 'Jawn!'

Mycroft was constantly teasing Sherlock for pronouncing the smaller boy's name as "Jawn" instead of "John". Sherlock couldn't help it, though. Other people were John; this was _Jawn_. His best friend, his companion, his absolute favourite thing in the whole wide world.

The other kids hated Sherlock. Most adults did too. Only Mycroft, Greg, Siger, and John seemed to think Sherlock was okay.

John beamed back at him and said, 'Hi, Sherlock.'

Sherlock pushed his brother aside and leapt at John, wrapping his long arms around the smaller boy's neck and pulling him into a strong hug. John wasted no time in hugging Sherlock back, burying his face in Sherlock's neck, his arms winding around Sherlock's slim waist.

Mycroft, Greg, and Mrs Watson watched with faint amusement. At first the relationship between the two had been odd; they never shut up about each other when they were alone _or _together, they ignored all other kids in favour of each other, and were practically joined at the hip.

Now it was just natural. Two years of the two spending all their time together, playing and creating experiments and pretending to be the Doctor or Harry Potter or officers for Scotland Yard, had made this an expected event.

All thought the same thing; when puberty hit, there would be no separating them. There was just a connection between them, an understanding of each other that was so deep, so strong, that everyone knew they'd end up together.

Of course Sherlock and John thought that was _disgusting_. Why would anyone want to kiss anyone else? It was just horrible! Hand-holding and cuddling and hugging, yes. Kissing? HELL NO!

Sherlock and John finally drew back, but not before John had threaded his fingers through Sherlock's and squeezed. Sherlock beamed brightly and said, 'Are you here for the entire day, are you?'

John looked at his mum, who nodded, smiling. 'Until at least eight or nine tonight.'

'But that's not long enough!' Sherlock complained. 'Jawn has to stay forever!'

'Sherlock, tomorrow's Monday,' Mycroft said.

'So?' Sherlock scowled at his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. 'School, brother dear.'

'School's _boring_,' Sherlock complained.

'Yeah,' John agreed readily. 'Can't I stay, Mum, please?'

He gave his mother his best puppy-dog eyes, complete with quivering bottom-lip, and Mrs Watson chuckled. 'I'll see, honey, okay?'

John beamed brightly and Sherlock grinned too, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 'Come along, Jawn.'

He tugged the shorter boy into the house and John waved goodbye to his mother.

'Thanks for this, Mycroft,' Mrs Watson said.

'Not a problem,' Mycroft smiled. 'I'll be here all day; the new nanny's due at any minute.'

'Ah, well tell me what she's like,' Mrs Watson said. 'That last one was horrible; I have half a mind to track her down and slap her.'

Mycroft chuckled. Mrs Watson didn't always get Sherlock- she thought he was odd- but she still cared about the younger Holmes.

Mycroft, Greg and Mrs Watson chatted for a few minutes before the woman left. Mycroft and Greg immediately scampered over to the sofa and fell atop each other, lips locked and arms wrapped around each other. Sherlock and John were already raiding the fridge for snacks.

'But it's too early for chocolate, Sherlock,' John was saying. He stood beside the kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, with his best stern-expression on his face.

Sherlock was climbing the shelves in the large double-doored fridge, poking his head into the back looking for the chocolate he _knew _Mycroft had hidden.

'But it's chocolate, Jawn,' Sherlock said, like that made up for it being 9am.

'So?' John said. 'We're not supposed to eat chocolate before midday, Mum said so.'

'That's your mother, not mine.'

'But your mother said the same thing before she passed on,' John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Dad's not here to tell me no, Mycroft's busy eating Lestrade's face, and the new nanny isn't here to stop me. So I can do what I want.'

'I'll stop you,' John promised. He raced forward as he said it and grabbed Sherlock by the hips, pulling his best friend back.

'No, lemme go!' Sherlock screeched. 'I want chocolate!'

The only thing Sherlock loved more than experiments was chocolate.

'No, Sherlock, stop it!' John said.

'I want chocolate!' Sherlock argued again.

John was a stocky boy, with at least ten pounds on Sherlock, and easily lifted him from the fridge.

'Jawn, lemme down!' Sherlock shrieked.

John planted Sherlock on the floor but kept his arms firmly around his best friend. 'How about a biscuit?' he asked. 'We'll have biscuits and watch Doctor Who.'

Sherlock paused at that, head cocked to one side. Before he could say yes Mycroft stomped into the kitchen. His lips were swollen, hair all over the place, and his shirt was un-buttoned halfway down his torso.

'What the bloody hell are you two doing in here?' he demanded.

'Sherlock wants chocolate,' John said.

'No, Sherlock,' Mycroft scowled. 'If you have chocolate you'll end up on the bloody roof again.'

'I wasn't gonna jump,' Sherlock pouted. 'I just wanted to see the grounds from the roof, and see how far my plane could go if I threw it from that height.'

'And you ended up breaking it, as well as scratching my car,' Mycroft said. 'So no, no chocolate.'

'I hate you!' Sherlock huffed.

'I love you too,' Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. 'John, get him a biscuit, and then you two shut the hell up.'

Sherlock poked his tongue out and Mycroft left, grumbling about idiotic children under his breath.

'Puberty makes you annoying,' Sherlock commented.

John giggled- thinking about all the times he and Sherlock had annoyed Mycroft and Greg when they were trying to get off- and finally let the other boy go. 'We'll be teenagers soon,' he said.

'But we won't be that stupid,' Sherlock said. 'I'm not gonna go all weird just 'cause some guy offers to stick his tongue in my mouth.'

'Definitely not,' John nodded. 'Why would anyone wanna do that?'

''Cause they're stupid,' Sherlock said.

'Stupid,' John agreed.

Sherlock beamed brightly at him and straightened his shirt out. 'Fine, I'll have a biscuit.'

'There ya go,' John smiled. He walked across the kitchen and pulled the pantry door open, stepping in and grabbing a packet of biscuits from one of the middle shelves.

He and Sherlock walked through the house and into the sitting room. Sherlock flopped onto the sofa while John got the TV and DVD on, grabbing series 2 of Doctor Who from the DVD cabinet.

'Doomsday!' Sherlock demanded.

'Why?' John whined. 'It's sad.'

'So?' Sherlock said. 'I'm here, I'll protect you.'

'But I don't like Rose leaving,' John pouted.

'I'll protect you,' Sherlock vowed again. John sighed and finally relented, putting in the last disk. 'We can have a marathon after, start from the old Doctor Who,' Sherlock promised.

John smiled and said, 'Deal,' before grabbing the remote and jumping onto the sofa. He and Sherlock snuggled together, John leaning heavily against the taller boy while Sherlock sat against the armrest.

They fell into silence as the DVD started and Sherlock ripped the packet of biscuits open, cramming two into his mouth and chewing. John nibbled on one and moved closer to his best friend while Doomsday started.

The two watched in silence until the episode started to come to an end, John moving closer and closer to Sherlock. When Rose was trapped in the parallel universe, Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's small shoulders and tugged him close, John practically burrowing into his best friend and hiding against his chest.

'It's okay, Jawn,' Sherlock promised.

'It's sad,' John mumbled.

Sherlock would never admit it, but Doomsday was his favourite episode of Doctor Who for this reason; John always hid against him, body curled up against Sherlock's, and Sherlock liked the contact. He didn't know why, but he always felt at ease when John was in his arms. Mycroft liked to say that it was _love, _but Sherlock always shouted and hit him when he did. It wasn't _love_; John was just special.

When the episode was over Sherlock wiped John's tears away and put on an older episode of Doctor Who. Before he could sit down Mycroft was calling his name, and John smiled at him as Sherlock cursed and stomped off to find his brother.

'What?' Sherlock demanded.

'Mrs Hudson is here,' Mycroft said, 'she's the new nanny.' He was standing in the foyer with an equally ruffled-looking Greg, and there was a woman Sherlock had never met before standing beside them.

Sherlock guessed her age to be late forties, and she was wearing a slim-fitting navy blue dress, comfortable looking shoes, and had a black coat folded over one thin arm. Her hair was short and streaked various shades of grey, and she smiled at Sherlock broadly.

'You must be Sherlock,' she said.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. 'So what if I am?'

'Sherlock, don't be rude,' Mycroft hissed.

'Oh, it's not a problem, my dear,' Mrs Hudson reassured the elder Holmes. 'He just doesn't know me yet.'

'I don't wanna know you,' Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson nodded and gave Sherlock a warm smile. 'I heard about the last nanny, I can't believe anyone would do that to a child, especially one as adorable as you.'

'I'm _not _a child and I'm _not _adorable!' Sherlock snapped, stamping his foot.

Mrs Hudson chuckled while Greg snickered, Mycroft rolling his eyes. 'Yes, well, Mrs Hudson's here to watch you while Gregory and I are busy,' he said.

'What, busy having sex?' Sherlock asked.

Mycroft blushed and Mrs Hudson said, 'Sherlock, don't be mean; your brother's private life isn't to be talked about.'

'But that's what they always do!' Sherlock argued. 'They only ever stop mauling each other to come up for air!'

'Well they're young, dear,' Mrs Hudson said. 'It'll happen to you one day.'

'It will _not_!' Sherlock snapped, looking appalled at the very thought.

'Sherlock, stop acting like a child,' Mycroft said. 'And behave,' he added when Sherlock opened his mouth to argue. The older teenager turned to Mrs Hudson. 'Gregory and I will be here all day, but we'll most likely be in my room,' he blushed at that but continued, 'dinner is always at seven, and Father's number is taped to the fridge in case there's an emergency.'

'He has _business_,' Sherlock drawled, rolling his eyes on the last word. '_Boring _business.'

'Of course; all adult stuff is boring,' Mrs Hudson agreed.

Sherlock eyed her carefully. 'Do you mean that?' he asked. 'Or are you just agreeing with me so I'll like you?'

'I can't force you to like me, Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson said. 'But I really do think adult stuff is boring. It's why I'm a nanny.'

Sherlock didn't know whether to believe her or not, and just watched as Mycroft spoke again to the woman.

'Don't let him near my bedroom, anything sharp, anything that can be used to make a weapon-'

'Which is basically everything,' Greg cut in.

'- and don't let him near a phone or he'll call the police looking for cases to solve,' Mycroft continued. 'Sherlock is under no circumstances to have chocolate before three o'clock, or any type of high-sugar drink unless I'm here to watch him.'

Mrs Hudson nodded along and asked a few questions before Mycroft and Greg left, practically running up the stairs together. She then turned to Sherlock, who was still standing at the other end of the room, staring at her.

'Why don't you tell me about yourself, dear?' she asked as she hung her coat up.

'I'm a genius,' Sherlock stated bluntly. 'I like information, experiments, people-watching, Doctor Who, and science.'

'You're quite a diverse young man, aren't you?' Mrs Hudson hummed.

Sherlock just stared.

'Sherlock?'

The two turned at the voice and Mrs Hudson said, 'Who's that?'

'Only the most special and best thing _ever_,' Sherlock said, like the woman's question was stupid.

'Well why don't you show me?' Mrs Hudson asked, both intrigued and amused.

Sherlock nodded and she followed him down the hallway and into the sitting room. Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow when she saw the small boy sitting on the sofa. Sherlock bounced over to him and grabbed his hand, waving their joined arms around.

'And who's this?' Mrs Hudson asked.

'This is Jawn,' Sherlock beamed, always ready to show-off _his _John. 'He's my best friend.'

'Is he now?' Mrs Hudson smiled.

John blushed and nodded, his dark blue eyes flicking between Sherlock, Mrs Hudson and the floor. 'Nice to meet you, ma'am,' he said politely.

'Please, call Me Mrs Hudson,' the woman smiled.

'Jawn's the best,' Sherlock announced. 'He does experiments with me, and watches Doctor Who with me, and reads Harry Potter with me, and we go to school together and eat together and do _everything _together because Jawn's awesome!'

Sherlock spoke quickly, words tumbling over each other, and Mrs Hudson had to step closer to hear him. It was clear the two boys were completely captivated with one another and she found it adorable.

John was bright pink by the end of Sherlock's ramble but had a stupid smile on his face and Mrs Hudson chuckled.

'Well how about we have a snack and do something fun?' she asked. 'We could watch Doctor Who, read Harry Potter, or you could show me your experiments.'

Sherlock gaped at her. 'You wanna see my experiments?' he asked. Usually all the nannies were mortified by what Sherlock considered _fun_, and ran as fast as they could or locked Sherlock in another room.

'Of course I do, they sound fascinating,' Mrs Hudson said.

That was all the motivation Sherlock needed. After eating a few more biscuits and drinking juice on Mrs Hudson's orders, the young boy proceeded to show Mrs Hudson- and explain in great detail- every single experiment he was currently running.

Mrs Hudson asked questions when she was confused, and got Sherlock to explain why he ran the experiments he did. John joined in when Sherlock forgot something and the three spent most of the day in Sherlock's "lab", Sherlock either bouncing around the room, waving stuff around, or hugging John.

When Mycroft and Greg appeared, both smoothing their clothes down and trying to hide the various love-bites they'd given each other, Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson were in the sitting room watching Doctor Who, John talking animatedly about the show, having Sherlock and Mrs Hudson's complete attention.

Mycroft stood in the doorway with Greg by his side, watching as Sherlock grinned at Mrs Hudson. He'd never seen his brother take to someone this well- not since he'd met John Watson.

'Mycroft!' Sherlock said when he spotted his brother. 'Mrs Hudson likes the Tenth Doctor too!'

'Does she?' Mycroft questioned.

Sherlock nodded vigorously. 'And Rose is her favourite companion, and she likes all the bad guys we do, and she likes experiments and chocolate _and _Harry Potter!'

Mrs Hudson smiled at Mycroft, who was quick to return the gesture.

'Now, how about some dinner?' Mrs Hudson said, clapping her hands together.

'But Doctor Who!' Sherlock complained.

'We're not even up to series three!' John said.

'We can watch some more after dinner before John's mother picks him up,' Mrs Hudson said. Both boys pouted and Mycroft and Greg chuckled. 'How about I talk to Mrs Watson and see if John can spend the night?' the woman suggested. 'That way you can watch Doctor who in your jim-jams.'

John's eyes lit up and Sherlock bounced around shouting, 'Yes, Jawn can stay over and we can watch Doctor Who and eat biscuits and talk 'bout experiments and-'

They calmed Sherlock and John down long enough to eat dinner, Sherlock continuing to prattle on about his day with Mrs Hudson and John, while John smiled brightly at him. Mrs Hudson and Mycroft had both spoken to Mrs Watson, and John's mother agreed to let her son sleep over. She came over at seven with John's uniform and told her son to behave.

Sherlock and John changed into their pyjamas and sat on the sofa together under Sherlock's duvet, watching Doctor Who. They both told Mrs Hudson all about each episode and the woman just smiled and asked questions when they stopped talking long enough for her to get a word in.

When it hit nine o'clock, Mycroft announced it was bed time. Sherlock and John complained a bit both were tired from their day, so they eventually gave up and headed upstairs with Mrs Hudson.

The nanny made sure the boys brushed their teeth before they both climbed into Sherlock's large bed and settled down.

'You boys want me to read you a story?' Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'We're ten, _almost _eleven; we don't need bedtime stories.'

'Okay, dear,' Mrs Hudson chuckled.

She watched as John leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock looked at John before his bright blue eyes flicked to Mrs Hudson. 'Do you like Jawn?' he demanded. ''Cause if you don't then we have a serious problem.'

'Of course I do,' Mrs Hudson said. 'How could I not?'

'Exactly,' Sherlock said. ''Cause Jawn's _awesome_.'

'Absolutely awesome,' Mrs Hudson agreed.

John brushed brightly and mumbled, 'I like you too, Mrs Hudson; you're nice.'

'Thank you, dear,' the woman smiled.

Sherlock looked between them before huffing. 'Fine, I suppose... _Ilikeyoutoo_,' he mumbled.

'Don't be rude, Sherlock,' John said, nudging him.

'I'm _not_,' Sherlock whined. John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock said, '_Fine._' He stared pointedly at Mrs Hudson. 'I. Like. You. _Too_.' And then he rolled over, tugging the duvet over his head, and buried himself in John's side.

John smiled and said, 'He's just shy.'

'Am not,' came Sherlock's muffled voice.

Mrs Hudson chuckled. 'Not a problem, dears. I hope you had fun today.'

'Definitely,' John nodded. 'Thank you for taking care of us today; it was real awesome.'

'I had fun too,' Mrs Hudson said. 'And I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to watch you, okay?'

John nodded and settled down to sleep. Mrs Hudson said goodnight and got up to leave, pausing at the door to look back. Sherlock had his arms wrapped around John and was snuggled into him, face pressed to John's chest. She watched as John pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head before closing his eyes.

Mrs Hudson headed back downstairs and walked into the sitting room to say goodbye to Mycroft and Greg. The two were on the sofa together, Mycroft with one arm thrown over the armrest, the other curled around Greg's tall body. Greg had cuddled into his boyfriend's side and Mrs Hudson smiled at the picture.

'Oh, Mrs Hudson,' Mycroft said when he noticed her. 'Did Sherlock and John go to sleep okay?'

'They were knackered, the poor things,' Mrs Hudson said. 'Sherlock certainly has a lot of energy.'

'John does that to him,' Mycroft said.

'I swear, he's absolutely insane when John's around,' Greg added.

'Or _Jawn_, as Sherlock likes to call him,' Mycroft said. The three shared a laugh before Mycroft stood to see the woman out. 'I hope John and my brother weren't too much trouble,' Mycroft said as Mrs Hudson collected her coat.

'They're certainly a handful, but they're wonderful boys,' Mrs Hudson said. 'Very special, and their friendship is absolutely amazing.'

'Yes, they're quite fond of each other,' Mycroft agreed. 'I was worried about Sherlock but now he has John to take care of him.'

Mrs Hudson nodded before pressing a kiss to Mycroft's cheek. 'I'll see you tomorrow, dear,' she said.

'Thank you again, Mrs Hudson,' Mycroft smiled. The nanny stepped out of the house and walked down the dark drive to her car, thoughts spinning around the two boys she'd just met.

Mrs Hudson loved children; she loved taking care of them and helping them grow. Sherlock was a special kid, that much was clear. He needed to be kept busy, he needed to learn, but most importantly; he needed someone to understand him and his needs.

And Mrs Hudson was positive that she'd be spending many years watching over Sherlock and his _Jawn_.


	2. Eleven-Years-Old

**PART II**

**Eleven-Years-Old**

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**Author's Note:** I finally wrote Part II! It only took six months, but you guys forgive me, 'cause you love me. Right? Right. So, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that it doesn't take another six months to write the next chapter. I actually just wrote this one about an hour ago, and reviewed it once, and I suck at beta-ing my own stuff, especially when I've been up 27 hours, so forgive me for any mistakes.

Cheers,

{Dreamer}

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'Why are you still here?' Sherlock demanded when he walked into the kitchen to find Mycroft eating toast and reading a book.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and responded, 'I told you, Sherlock, I start university at the end of _this _year, not the end of last.' It was a conversation that had quickly grown old; Sherlock, despite actually not wanting his brother to leave, had started every morning since the half-term holidays had begun asking why his sibling was still in the house.

Sherlock, who deleted information he didn't deem important on a regular basis, seemed to have forgotten the fact that Mycroft wouldn't start university until the year he turned _eighteen_, meaning September this year (if he got into Oxford, that is).

That also meant that at the start of the new school year Sherlock would be entering high school; he seemed to have deleted that information, too. Anything that wasn't an experiment, interesting in a weird and disgusting manner, or John Watson, wasn't worthy of Sherlock's memory.

'Oh,' Sherlock grunted and dragged a chair across the tiles. Mycroft tisked and quickly stood to stop him. 'What?' the younger Holmes growled.

'What do you want?'

'I can get it myself!'

'Clearly you can't if you need a chair.'

'I'll be tall one day!'

'But today isn't that day.'

'I'll be taller than you, just wait!'

'I doubt it.'

Sherlock's scowl darkened and Mycroft just smirked; how his brother could be so infuriating yet _still _make Sherlock love him was beyond the younger boy.

Finally Sherlock snapped, 'Mycroft!' and the teenager chuckled.

'Just tell me what you want and I'll get it.'

Sherlock pursed his lips before saying, 'The cereal with chocolate.'

Thankfully Mycroft spoke Sherlock and grabbed the right box from the high cupboard. Sherlock took it off him, poked his tongue out, and tried to drag his chair back to the table. Mycroft, of course, didn't let him, and Sherlock muttered in annoyance but gave up and let his brother carry the chair back.

Once they were both seated- Sherlock with a bowl and spoon courtesy of Mycroft, because apparently it wasn't _polite _to eat out of the box with your fingers- Mycroft lit a cigarette and dragged the ashtray in the middle of the table towards himself. Siger Holmes was still constantly telling his eldest son to quit, but Mycroft, of course, didn't listen. Sherlock wouldn't either if he smoked (he never listened to anything anyone told him to do), but Mycroft had said he was too young when Sherlock had tried to nick one to try it.

Sherlock crunched through his bowl of cereal- no milk, 'cause it was disgusting- while Mycroft continued to read whatever novel he'd picked that week and smoked. Sherlock just watched, noting and filing away the faces Mycroft made when he read; the furrow of his eyebrows when something happened that he didn't like, the quirk of his lips when something went right, the eye-roll when something stupid was written, and the downright grin when he reached really good parts. Mycroft might have been a good liar and skilled at putting on a mask, but to Sherlock he was an open book.

Sherlock wanted to ask about the book- the characters, the plot, why Mycroft was reading it, was he almost done, could Sherlock read it- just to annoy his brother, but he decided to leave him be and focus on his breakfast. John was coming over soon and would be spending the night, and Sherlock didn't want to upset Mycroft and possibly be put in time-out that would cut into his Jawn time. He'd tried pleading to Mrs Hudson the last four times it had happened, but the nanny always sided with Mycroft when Sherlock did something bad. It just proved Sherlock's theory that once you became an adult you automatically became boring (it wouldn't happen to him or Jawn, though, cause he and Jawn were _brilliant_).

So he finished his breakfast and even dropped the bowl and spoon into the sink when he was done. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that but Sherlock just said, 'Tell me when Jawn's here,' and stomped out of the kitchen to go back to his current experiment.

School had tried to teach him about the solar system, _again_, and Sherlock had decided to steal one of the models and test various acids against the paint, papier-mâché, cardboard, and whatever else it was made out of. It was rather fun watching Pluto melt into a pile of goo.

Sherlock busied himself in his lab (aka bedroom, but lab sounded cooler) and was just melting Jupiter when there was a knock on his door. Sherlock ignored it, as usual, until Mycroft called, 'John's here!'

Paying no attention to whatever liquid was eating through his desk, Sherlock ripped his protective gear off, threw it all aside, and bounded across the room. He ripped his bedroom door open and tore down the hallway, by-passing Mycroft who was turning the corner, and ignoring his brother's chuckle as he ran down the stairs.

Mrs Hudson must have arrived while Sherlock was busy, because she was standing by the front door with John and John's older sister, Harriet- or Harry, because apparently Harriet was "too girly", and Sherlock didn't understand that so promptly deleted it every time Harriet brought it up. He made sure to call her Harriet, though, just to grin at the annoyed look on her face.

'Jawn!' he shouted, as usual, when he spotted his best friend.

John grinned from between his sister and Mrs Hudson and braced himself while he opened his arms. Sherlock barrelled into him and snuggled deep into John's warm jumper, breathing in heavily to fill his sense with _Jawn_. Jawn was always so cuddly, and he smelled like his bedroom and cigarettes- no doubt from Harriet smoking in her car- and he was warm and fuzzy and wonderful and it made Sherlock hug him that bit tighter.

'Hey, Sherlock, gotta let me breathe,' John said as he hugged Sherlock back. The taller boy could hear the smile in his voice, though, and just continued to cling to him until he heard Mycroft join them.

'Harriet,' he greeted John's sister.

'Harry,' the twenty-two year-old corrected, voice rehearsed.

'Wonderful to see you again,' Mycroft continued easily, completely ignoring her. Sherlock didn't know why she bothered; Mycroft still called his boyfriend of almost two years _Gregory_, and only ever called him Greg when they were having sex- and then he shouted it over and over again, and Sherlock didn't know _why_, and when he asked, Greg blushed and Mycroft told him to mind his own business, and Mrs Hudson and Siger both had that "oh, young couples are so adorable" look on their faces that made Sherlock feel sick, because his brother and Greg weren't _adorable_, they were annoying.

John finally managed to pry Sherlock's arms from his body and Sherlock pouted, but then smiled when John linked their fingers and squeezed tight.

'So, Dad'll be picking John up tomorrow at about eleven. Is that alright?' Harriet asked.

'That's fine, Mrs Hudson will be here with them,' Mycroft said.

''Cause Mycroft will be having sex with Greg again,' Sherlock muttered. Mycroft slapped him over the back of the head instead of chastising him and Harriet snickered while Mrs Hudson tisked.

'Leave Sherlock alone,' John scowled up at the teenager, 'he's just telling the truth.'

Sherlock grinned- ha, Jawn _always_ sided with him!- and smirked proudly at Mycroft.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and said, 'I'm leaving now,' and turned promptly on the spot, heading back upstairs.

'Teenagers,' Mrs Hudson smiled fondly. She turned to the two younger boys. 'That'll be you one day.'

'No it won't,' Sherlock scowled.

'We won't be that mean,' John nodded.

Mrs Hudson and Harriet shared one of those "we know better than you" looks that anyone older than Sherlock shared, and the best friends scowled first at them, then at each other.

'This is boring,' Sherlock announced and tugged on John's hand. 'Wanna see my experiment?'

'Yeah,' John smiled. Sherlock beamed in return and, ignoring both Mrs Hudson and Harriet, tugged John towards the stairs.

'Yeah, bye to you, too!' Harriet called.

'Bye!' John called over his shoulder as he was dragged away.

Harriet sighed. 'Honestly, it's like they're glued together.'

'I think it's sweet,' Mrs Hudson said. 'Can I get you a drink or anything before you go, dear?'

'Nah, I'm fine, thank you,' Harriet smiled. 'I've got to get to work.'

'Drive safe,' Mrs Hudson said before leading the girl out. She'd just shut the door when Mycroft re-appeared, this time wearing a jacket and carrying his car keys. 'Are you heading out, Mycroft?'

'I have plans with Gregory,' Mycroft informed her. 'Just call if Sherlock does anything.'

'I know,' Mrs Hudson smiled.

They exchanged a few more words before Mycroft left to meet with his boyfriend, and suddenly Mrs Hudson was alone. She had a few chores to do- mostly Sherlock's laundry, fixing lunch and dinner and snacks, and making sure the boys didn't do anything too destructive.

_Well, I'd better get started_, she thought and hummed to herself as she headed for the laundry room.

{oOo}

'Sherlock, you didn't,' John said as soon as he saw the model sitting on Sherlock's large wooden table.

Sherlock walked across the room and grinned when he saw the hole that had been eaten into the wood; _awesome_.

'I didn't do what?' he asked as he inspected the hole and wondered how to re-create it on a larger scale. He could _so _destroy half of Mycroft's stuff.

'That's Sam Brandt's model, he spent ages on it,' John said.

'So?'

'How'd you get it out of the classroom, anyway?'

'I'm a genius.'

John smiled at that and Sherlock gestured for him to come closer.

'Acid works differently on different things, Jawn,' he informed the smaller boy. 'It eats quicker through paint and paper at the same rate, but works slower on foam and cardboard!'

John couldn't stay cross with Sherlock for long and was soon absorbed in the experiment, grinning when Sherlock let him pour some type of liquid over Uranus- they couldn't help but giggle at the name. After that they crushed Mars into little bits so Sherlock could see if the different textures melted at the same consistency in smaller pieces. John just enjoyed melting stuff.

At some point they got the random idea to build a working volcano- Sherlock said they'd just need baking soda, food dye, and a few other things to make the lava- and grabbed a heap of supplies together to build it. They gave up halfway through, though, when John decided he wanted a biscuit and they promptly forgot about the entire thing as they snuck into the kitchen to raid the new TARDIS cookie jar Mycroft had bought.

They ate all of Mycroft's favourite digestives, grinning to each other as they did, and fled the kitchen when Mrs Hudson scolded them for gorging themselves on chocolate.

'Sherlock, can we go play outside?' John asked as they headed through the family living room.

'And do what?' Sherlock sniffed. Unless it involved dissecting something, Sherlock didn't much fancy nature.

'Um... we could compare leaves or bark or... somethin'?' John suggested. He just wanted to go outside and sit in the sun, maybe kick a football around. Sherlock wouldn't join him, of course, but it was still much more fun with Sherlock around.

Sherlock hummed as he thought. 'I want to catch insects,' he announced and, mind firmly set on that, dragged John about the house looking for some jars, a notebook, and a pen.

{oOo}

They eventually made it outside, Sherlock with his supplies, John with the football Greg had left in Mycroft's room. As John kicked it around and chatted to Sherlock about this and that, the genius raced through the trees and bushes trying to catch bugs. It was difficult without a net- and Sherlock made a note to demand that Mycroft buy him one- but he eventually caught a ladybug, three ants, a cricket, and some type of weird cockroach/cricket hybrid that was big, black, and kind of freaky looking.

Sherlock laid on his belly as he studied them, all co-mingling in one jar, and John practised kicking the football from one foot to the other. Sherlock didn't particularly care for football- or any sport, really- but listened attentively as John talked about his interest in joining the local team, or possibly the school team.

Sherlock didn't like the thought of his Jawn spending a lot of time with other people that weren't him, but he didn't say it out loud; he just scowled when Jawn talked about making new friends, or how cool it would be playing as part of a team, or weekend games and training and how it would get him out of the house, which was apparently something Mr and Mrs Watson were very much for.

Eventually Sherlock grew bored with his insects, and with Jawn blabbering about new _friends_, so he grabbed the jar and threw it against the closest tree. John jumped as the glass smashed, sending bits and pieces flying, and Sherlock instantly felt guilty when he noted the alarm on his best friend's face.

'Sorry,' he mumbled and picked up his notebook. He started walking towards the house, ignoring John's shouts for him to come back. He was halfway to the front door when John caught up to him.

'Sherlock, why are you mad?'

'M'not mad,' the genius scowled.

'Yeah you are,' John said. 'Why?'

'I'm not,' Sherlock insisted.

John frowned. 'You can't lie to me, Lockie,' he reminded the taller boy. 'I'm your best friend, remember?'

That made Sherlock's scowl deepened and John reached down to link their fingers.

'Sherlock?'

'I don't want you to spend time with other people,' Sherlock blurted.

John blinked in confusion. 'What?'

Sherlock huffed and said, 'If you make new friends you won't want to spend time with me, and you'll have more fun with normal people, and we'll stop hanging out, and then we won't be best friends, and-'

He stopped when John tugged on his hand and Sherlock tried to free himself, but John was strong when he wanted to be.

'Sherlock, don't be stupid,' John said firmly. 'You're my best friend and always will be. Even if I make new friends, you'll _always _be my best friend, okay? Normal friends can't compete with you,'cause they're not even half as awesome as you.'

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip. 'R-Really?'

''Course.' John squeezed their joined fingers. 'I promise, 'kay?'

'So when we start high school and you join the football team and become popular and people think I'm a freak, we'll still be friends?'

'You're not a freak,' John tutted. 'But yeah, we'll still be friends; best friends.'

That brought a small smile to Sherlock's face, and he nodded. 'Okay.'

'Okay,' John echoed, nodded firmly, and started walking again, forcing Sherlock to move.

{oOo}

When they entered the house Mrs Hudson made them wash up for lunch and the two did so quickly, suddenly starving. When they entered the kitchen Mrs Hudson said, 'Having fun, boys?'

'Yes,' they answered in unison and started on their sandwiches, crisps, and glasses of lemonade as they chatted about what they were going to do later. John wanted to play video games, but Sherlock wanted go through Mycroft's bedroom for blackmail material. They eventually settled on a compromise; Sherlock could only look at everything that was already out in the open in Mycroft's bedroom, because Mycroft's bedroom was where the XBox 360 was, so Sherlock would be in there anyways.

When they finished their lunch Mrs Hudson told them to have fun and they ran upstairs- Mrs Hudson calling, 'No running in the house!' after them, which of course they ignored- and quickly pushed Mycroft's bedroom door open.

Like usual, it was messy; there were clothes strewn over the floor and various pieces of furniture, the wardrobe doors were open revealing even _more _clothes, and there were CDs, books, and other crap sitting on every available surface. Mycroft's bed was unmade, but Sherlock didn't make his either; what was the point when he was gonna mess it up again when he went to bed?

The XBox 360 was set up in Mycroft's TV cabinet and John went to turn it all on and select a game while Sherlock looked around for blackmail material. A quick sweep of the room only produced a dirty magazine sitting beneath a dozen CDs, and Sherlock stared down at the naked men, wondering why Mycroft would _want _to stare at that. Then again, he had regular sex with Greg, and Sherlock didn't understand _that _either.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Sherlock that John was momentarily occupied, so he quickly scrambled over the bed and tugged open Mycroft's bedside table, the top drawer first. Like during all his previous snooping, he found a few foil strips of condoms, a half-used bottle of lubricant, lighters, Mycroft's old mobile phone, and an ashtray. The next drawer revealed empty packets of cigarettes that Mycroft had clearly been too lazy to throw out, as well as photographs of Mycroft, Greg, and various friends. The final drawer was similarly boring and Sherlock sighed as he closed it.

'Sherlock!'

The blue-eyed boy whirled around, pasting an innocent look on his face, but of course his Jawn didn't fall for it.

'I said no snooping,' John tisked and crossed the room.

'I wasn't snooping, the drawers were open!' Sherlock lied.

'Yeah right,' John snorted. He reached Sherlock and grabbed his hand. 'Come on.'

'Please, Jawn, just a little more snooping?'

'Ah-ha! So you _were _snooping!'

'I was not!'

'You just admitted it!'

'Did not!'

'Did too!'

'Shut up!'

'_You _shut up!'

They continued bickering as they fell onto the two-seat sofa Mycroft had set before the TV cabinet, and didn't shut up until the game started. It was something with guns and explosions, two-player, so Sherlock was happy. He got to play against Jawn and kill his character, which was always fun; Sherlock didn't like video games, and rarely played them, but he was a fast learner and enjoyed seeing that little pout on his Jawn's face when Jawn lost.

The two friends played for about two hours until Mycroft got home, towing Gregory Lestrade behind him, and the teenagers kicked Sherlock and John out to have _sex_.

'I hate them,' Sherlock scowled as the door slammed in their faces.

'I don't hate them,' John said, 'but they're annoying.'

'We should throw rocks at the window,' Sherlock grinned.

But John shook his head. 'No, Mycroft got really mad last time, remember? And he followed us around all day being annoying.'

Ah, right, Sherlock remembered that. Stupid Mycroft and his stupid teenage rebellious phase.

'Fine, I'll annoy Mycroft tomorrow,' Sherlock said and chewed on his bottom lip. 'What do you wanna do?'

John tilted his head as he thought and Sherlock watched him quietly- he was only ever quiet and patient for Jawn.

'Wanna watch _Torchwood_?' John asked. 'Mycroft's busy so he won't stop us, and Mrs Hudson doesn't know how violent it is.'

Sherlock grinned and grabbed John's hand, checking the time on the watch he wore. 'She'll be hanging out our laundry and busy with dinner, come on!'

They raced downstairs and kept their ears and eyes open, but Mrs Hudson didn't make an appearance. They put Mycroft's DVD of _Torchwood _on and quickly settled to watch.

'I hate Gwen,' John stated almost as soon as the first episode had started. 'Jack loves Ianto, not _Gwen_.'

'She's stupid,' Sherlock agreed as they watched Captain Jack look up and say, "_What do you think?_" Ianto was Sherlock's favourite because he looked cool and was smart and funny, and he was John's favourite too, though Sherlock didn't know why and had never asked. Sherlock also loved Owen, who was smart and sarcastic, but John loved Tosh 'cause she was sweet and funny. Sherlock wanted her to grow a backbone and smack Owen for being a prat.

They got through most of series 1 before Mycroft caught them and switched it off.

'Mycroft!' they whined in unison and Mycroft scowled. His hair was tousled and there were red bite marks on his neck. Gregory hadn't faired any better, and his shirt was inside out. Sherlock wasn't going to say anything, though, 'cause it was funny and he wanted to see how long it was until someone else noticed.

'No, Torchwood's too mature for you,' Mycroft stated.

'We're eleven!' Sherlock said, just like every other time.

And, just like every other time, Mycroft said, '_No_.'

So they were stuck watching something boring on TV- a rock concert or something by a band Mycroft and Greg loved, Sherlock tuned out after the first twenty-three seconds. John seemed mildly interested, but he was so polite and sweet he wouldn't have said anything even if he hated it. So they watched it for about half-an-hour before Sherlock remembered their volcano experiment.

'Volcano experiment?' Mycroft asked when Sherlock and John jumped off the sofa.

'We're building a volcano,' John told them.

'I remember doin' that for school a few years ago,' Greg said, frowning as he thought. 'I didn't make it too well, though, 'cause the baking soda melted one side of the volcano and it spilled all over the table and the floor.'

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'Can you do that again?' he asked.

Greg smiled and Mycroft said, 'How about we help you built it right the first time around, then the second time we'll melt it?'

Sherlock quickly agreed and Greg raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend as the two teenagers stood.

'It'll be better than Sherlock suddenly deciding that acid makes better lava and melting half his bedroom,' Mycroft murmured, the two following Sherlock and John through the manor.

'Right,' Greg chuckled and leaned over to peck Mycroft on the cheek. 'You just wanna build a volcano, don't ya?'

Mycroft rolled his eyes. 'I'm merely helping my brother, Gregory.'

'Whatever you say, love.'

Before Mycroft could defend himself again, Sherlock shouted, 'Stop groping each other and hurry up!'

The couple just chuckled and shook their heads as they headed upstairs.

{oOo}

They all quickly found that while building a proper volcano with baking soda lava that erupted from the top was fun, making a volcano that _melted _was pretty bloody awesome. They ended up building about four and melting them until Sherlock's table had large globs of brown and green _stuff_ stuck all over it with fizzy bits here and there. The four were covered in a number of things, and Mrs Hudson stared at them when she appeared to retrieve them for dinner.

'What have you boys been up to?' she asked and looked longer at Mycroft and Greg. She expected this from Sherlock and John, but usually when she found Mycroft and Greg together they were in various states of undress, not covered in gunk.

Mycroft blushed while Greg said, 'Well, uh... volcanoes are cool?'

Mrs Hudson chuckled. 'You lot wash up, change, and come downstairs for dinner.'

All four boys nodded and Mycroft and Greg left Sherlock and John to change. John only had pyjamas, so Sherlock changed into his own, and they washed up in the bathroom before going downstairs. Mycroft and Gregory would no doubt be kissing each other again so Mrs Hudson dished up Sherlock and John's dinner first.

It was spaghetti, which Sherlock had always loved, because it looked like worms and he could slurp the noodles noisily and flick sauce and chunks of meat at Mycroft when no grown-ups were looking.

Sherlock and John were through a good portion of their dinners when Mycroft and Greg finally joined them, sporting bruised lips and even _more_ love-bites. And Gregory's new shirt wasn't inside out, which was disappointing.

Sherlock rolled his eyes while John practically ignored the couple, far too used to it to be surprised, and Mrs Hudson gave her customary "oh, the precious dears, they're so adorable" look. It was almost enough to put Sherlock off his spaghetti.

_Almost _being the keyword there, because as soon as Mycroft sat down- in the seat closest to Sherlock- Sherlock set a ball of mince on his fork, aimed, and fired.

It hit Mycroft on the neck and Sherlock snickered as he stared down at his plate, his grin widening when Mycroft swore and slapped a hand to his neck.

'Sherlock!' he snapped.

'Sherlock, don't throw your food, dear,' Mrs Hudson said, while John gave him a disapproving look.

'My hand slipped,' Sherlock stated, innocent look on his face (which no one bought because they all knew him too well, damn it!) _Especially_ when he did it again, and again, and a fourth time before Mycroft reached across the distance between them and slapped Sherlock over the back of the head, _hard_. 'Ow, My!' he growled and massaged his fingers through his hair.

'Stop being a little bastard or I'll throw the plate at you,' Mycroft snarled, eyes narrowed.

Sherlock scowled but stopped flinging food, his dinner not as interesting now that he couldn't play with it. Mycroft was even more annoying (and slightly scary, but Sherlock would _never _admit that), when his mood declined.

He picked at the strings of cheese melted between the noodles until John was done. As soon as the smaller boy had finished Sherlock was up and dragging John away, ignoring Mrs Hudson's calls to wash up.

They settled back in the family living room to watch a _Doctor Who _DVD- at least Mycroft wouldn't change it for something boring- and got through a few episodes before it was bedtime. Of course, Sherlock and John argued that they were too old to have a bedtime, but as usual Mrs Hudson ignored them and made them wash up.

They took turns in the bathroom before jumping into bed, Mrs Hudson sitting on the edge of the mattress to read them a story. Again, they were "too old for stories", but listened attentively as Mrs Hudson read _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_. They were almost done, and though both boys had read all the books by themselves, they still enjoyed it and were looking forward to _Order of the Phoenix_.

Despite his best efforts Sherlock was actually tired, and when Mrs Hudson set the book aside and switched off the bedside lamp, he let her do so without complaint. She said goodnight and left, shutting the door behind her and leaving the boys in the dark.

A few minutes of silence followed before Sherlock said, 'Jawn?'

'Mm?' the older boy mumbled, voice groggy with sleep.

'You promise we'll be best friends still, even if you get more friends?'

''Course, Sherlock.'

'Forever?' Sherlock asked quietly.

John shifted over the mattress until he was pressed up against the taller boy, and reached out to wrap his arms around him. Sherlock snuggled into his best friend and yawned.

'I promise, Sherlock; forever and ever,' Jawn said firmly.

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. 'Night, Jawn.'

'Night, Sherlock.'


	3. Twelve-Years-Old

**PART III**

**Twelve-Years-Old**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yup, that's right, I'm updating again! I went ahead and wrote this chapter yesterday and gave it a quick review, so... excuse any mistakes. Hopefully the next chapter is as easy to write.

Enjoy,

{Dreamer}

* * *

'Sherlock, Mycroft's on the phone!'

Sherlock dropped his homework and leapt to his feet. He darted through the living room and into the kitchen, where Mrs Hudson was leaning against the wall with the phone pressed to her ear.

'He's here now, dear,' she said before handing the phone across to Sherlock.

Sherlock took it eagerly and made his way back into the living room. 'Mycroft?'

'_Hello, Little Brother._'

Sherlock felt a smile spread across his face. He hadn't realised just how much he'd miss his brother until Mycroft was gone. He called every week, and he and Sherlock exchanged mountains of emails and texts, but it wasn't the same.

'So are you on your way?' Sherlock asked. 'Almost here? About to leave? What?' When Mycroft sighed on the other end Sherlock felt his stomach drop. 'No, Mycroft-'

'_I'm sorry, Lockie_.'

'No!' Sherlock snapped. 'You've said that the last five times, My!'

'_Between school work, actual work, and the weather, it's hard to just drop everything and drive home,_' Mycroft explained. '_The deadline for one of my papers was moved up and Gregory got a last minute shift at the coffee shop. His car's due at the shop soon and he needs the money. Plus_-'

'I've heard enough,' Sherlock muttered. 'You're always making up excuses.'

'_Sherlock, you know I miss you._'

'Doesn't seem like it,' Sherlock replied sulkily.

'_Sherlock,_' his brother sighed, '_I _do _miss you, really I do, and Gregory and I are looking forward to being home for Christmas break. But I have responsibilities now that I can't just drop because you want me home earlier._'

'But you _promised_,' Sherlock argued. He sat heavily on the couch and glared at the TV.

'_I know, and I shouldn't have promised without being sure of myself_,' Mycroft said, '_but so much came up suddenly, I honestly thought I'd be able to drive up on the 15th._'

Sherlock picked at the frayed waistline of his jeans as he asked, 'So when will you be here, then?'

'_My paper's due later today, Gregory's last shift ends at 12:30, and we'll sleep this afternoon before driving up. We should be there by nine or ten tonight._'

Sherlock nodded, even though he knew Mycroft couldn't see him. Nine or ten was better than a few more days.

A few minutes of silence followed and Sherlock could hear Mycroft moving papers around and drinking something.

'_Lockie, I have to go_,' the elder Holmes said and Sherlock sighed. '_I'll be there soon._'

'Yeah, okay.'

'_Say hello to John for me_,' Mycroft said and Sherlock grunted. '_Bye, Lockie_.'

'Bye, My,' Sherlock replied before pulling the phone away from his ear and hanging up. He tossed it to his left and watched it bounce across the crouch. Sherlock scowled at it and pulled his feet up onto the couch. His drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and proceeded to pout.

Mycroft was supposed to be home _days _ago. But every day he'd called with some excuse; homework, Gregory's work, the car, bills, needing a new bed. If they didn't have so much stupid sex Mycroft would already be home!

Sherlock sulked for a few minutes before Mrs Hudson walked into the room. She picked up the phone and looked down at her young charge, smiling softly. 'Mycroft delayed again, love?'

'Stupid Mycroft and his stupid papers,' Sherlock's muffled voice reached her.

'He's in university, dear, he has a lot of work to do,' Mrs Hudson said.

'He's _stupid_,' Sherlock repeated.

Mrs Hudson reached out to ruffle his hair and Sherlock didn't bother pushing her away. He just closed his eyes and thought of all the ways he could punish Mycroft for not coming home on time.

'Why don't you go see John?' Mrs Hudson suggested. 'Dinner won't be for a few more hours, and you've almost finished all your homework.'

Sherlock frowned as he peeled his eyes open, vision dark from his jeans. John had been spending almost every day of the holidays with his _new _friends. They played football and video games together, and went to the movies, and they even talked on Facebook all the time. Holidays had started a week ago and Sherlock had seen John _once_. Once!

'Don't wanna,' Sherlock muttered and re-buried his head.

'Why not?' Mrs Hudson asked.

'John's stupid.'

The woman clicked her tongue and set about cleaning up the mess Sherlock had made. With nothing to do- and nobody to spend time with- Sherlock had actually dragged his homework out of his bag and completed most of it.

'I know you don't really think that, Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson said while putting pens back in Sherlock's pencil case. She looked across to see that Sherlock was still hiding his face. 'If John's busy, why don't you give Molly a call?'

Sherlock's frown deepened. He went to high school with Molly Hooper and she was in most of his classes. She was nice and sweet and smart- Sherlock liked that she was smart- but she always followed him around everywhere and blushed whenever he looked at her. And people kept teasing them about spending so much time together. Sherlock didn't understand, but apparently John did, because even he had commented on it.

_But I don't care what _John _thinks_, Sherlock thought, purposely pronouncing his best friend's name right in his head, rather than using his special nickname. John didn't deserve to be called that, he was a prat.

'Sherlock?' Mrs Hudson said and nudged him.

'Fine,' Sherlock muttered and unfolded himself. If John was so _busy _having so much _fun_, than Sherlock would too. And he'd have fun with Molly, who John didn't like. That'd teach the stupid prat to stop spending time with Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson smiled, satisfied, and straightened a few more of Sherlock's notebooks before heading back into the kitchen. Sherlock hunted around for his mobile and eventually found it underneath the couch. He unlocked it and typed out a quick message to Molly;

_Busy?_

_SH_

Molly was never busy when Sherlock called or texted, not that he did that much. Usually it was just to show off his experiments or find out what homework he'd been assigned and promptly forgotten about.

Sure enough, about a minute later his iPhone beeped with a new text;

**just finishd helpn mum make cookies 4 xmas 2moro so I'm free do u need help wid sumthn? xx**

Sherlock grimaced at the little x's- Molly left them at the end of _every _text and note she wrote to him- _and _at the spelling. Why did everyone feel the need to shorten words in text messages? It made it difficult and annoying to read.

But there was no point in complaining, because Molly still did it. At least John knew better and always used proper spelling and grammar when he texted-

No, Sherlock wasn't thinking about _stupid _John. He was texting Molly;

_Want to hang out? I'm bored and I want to go people-watching._

_SH_

He walked upstairs to get changed, deciding he needed warmer clothes. It had been snowing non-stop for the past week and the paths would no doubt be absolutely covered. Sherlock hated the snow; it was wet and cold and served no purpose other than to make people act like idiots and get into the "holiday spirit". Sherlock hated Christmas, too.

His phone chimed again and he glanced down at it;

**i can meet u at d park in 10 mins?**

Sherlock quickly texted that that'd be fine and reached his room. He pulled his t-shirt off and switched it for a long-sleeved one, another cotton shirt going over the top. He made sure he had his phone and wallet, in case he wanted to buy a drink or something to eat, before heading back downstairs.

'Mrs Hudson, I'm going out!' Sherlock shouted as he grabbed his long black coat and scarf from the hook by the door.

'Okay, call if you need anything!' Mrs Hudson's voice echoed back.

Sherlock loved Mrs Hudson; she never asked stupid questions.

Sherlock buttoned his coat up and pulled the front door open. He was immediately hit with a cold wind, but at least it wasn't snowing. As he walked he wrapped his scarf around his neck, pulled on the leather gloves Mycroft had sent him a few days earlier, and flipped his collar up.

The park Molly wanted to meet at was about a six or seven minute walk if Sherlock didn't dawdle, and two streets over from his own. It was about midway between his house and John's own, so he and John had played there a lot as kids, as had most of the locals.

Sherlock shook his head and stuffed his hands further into his pockets. _Don't think about John, he's stupid. _With that firmly in mind, Sherlock walked faster, listening to the snow crunching beneath his shoes.

{oOo}

Molly wasn't at the park when Sherlock got there, but somebody else was. Sherlock scowled darkly as he kicked at one of the picnic tables to dislodge the snow. John was across on the other side of the park having a snowball fight with his _friends_. He hadn't seen Sherlock, and Sherlock didn't exactly want to talk to him, so he turned his back and finished getting the snow off so he could sit on a relatively dry place.

He dropped onto the seat and pointedly started playing with his phone, but every few minutes his eyes would drift over to John to see the shorter boy laughing and having just a bloody _wonderful _time.

Sherlock felt his heart plummet and his stomach roil. He and John didn't have fun anymore. Actually, _Sherlock _didn't have fun anymore. It had been ages since he'd had _actual _fun. He had his experiments, sure, but they weren't the same without John hanging around to tell him he was brilliant, or smiling at him, or just _being there_. And Mycroft wasn't there to make it better.

_Stupid John and his stupid smiles and his stupid friends! _Sherlock growled to himself and glared down at his phone as he tapped angrily at the touch-screen.

He kept his eyes on his phone until Molly appeared, all bright smiles and flushed cheeks from the cold. Sherlock smiled- because he knew she liked it, and if he didn't maybe she'd make new friends too and leave him- and Molly beamed in response.

'Hey, Sherlock, thanks for inviting me,' Molly said as she sat beside him.

'Not a problem,' Sherlock murmured and put his phone away.

'So you wanted to people-watch?' Molly asked and rubbed her gloved hands together.

Sherlock glanced over at John and his friends. Scowling, he said, 'No, I don't.'

Molly looked up too but didn't say anything about it. She'd asked a few days ago if something was wrong between him and John, and Sherlock had thrown his textbook across the classroom and got a detention. Sherlock guessed she'd learned that it wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss.

'Tell me about your cat,' he said, because he had nothing better to do, and because it was pregnant and Sherlock was tracking it's birth as a sort of crappy side-project.

Molly immediately launched into what her cat, Simone- at least it had a normal name- had been doing since she and Sherlock had last discussed it, and Sherlock let the girl's words wash over him. It was nowhere near as much fun as hanging out with John, but Molly _was _sweet, and Sherlock guessed he kind of liked her. She put up with him, so she had to be okay.

She was just talking about how Simone had started pestering her all the time for bacon when someone walking through the snow reached their ears.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock looked away from Molly to see John standing before them, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. His face was bright pink, his short hair ruffled, and he'd clearly been having a _lot _of fun.

Sherlock's heart did that weird clenchy thing again and Sherlock curled his fingers into fists. 'What do _you _want?'

John blinked at the younger boy's tone but said, 'Um... I just wanted to say hi, so...' His cheeks darkened a bit and he waved awkwardly. 'Hi.'

Molly glanced between the two while Sherlock sat in silence. After a few minute he snapped, 'Well you've said it!' and looked pointedly over John's shoulder. 'Why don't you go back to your _friends_?'

John scowled at Sherlock and looked at Molly before saying, 'Fine, I will!'

'Good!' Sherlock retorted. He glared at his best friend's retreating back as John stomped back to the big group of boys. No doubt they'd call Sherlock a freak again, but this time John would probably agree with them.

'Are you okay, Sherlock?' Molly asked.

'Fine,' Sherlock answered shortly.

'Are you sure?' the girl pressed on. 'I thought John was your best friend.'

'Not anymore,' Sherlock muttered and stood. 'Stop talking about him.'

Molly blinked before saying, 'Um... okay.'

'Let's go, I'll buy you a hot chocolate,' Sherlock said and started walking, not waiting for Molly to catch up. He didn't want to be anywhere near _stupid _John.

{oOo}

Sherlock was in bed- sulking, not sleeping- when Mycroft and Gregory arrived. They said their hellos to Mrs Hudson before Mycroft went in search of his brother, leaving Greg to unpack their things in Mycroft's old bedroom.

He knocked on the door but received no response, so pushed it open slowly and stuck his head in. 'Sherlock?'

Still no response, so Mycroft walked into the room and flicked the light on. Sherlock was curled up on one side of his big bed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Mycroft wasn't sure if he was awake or not so walked around the bed, head tilted.

Sherlock had his eyes closed but his mouth was set in a firm line, telling Mycroft that he was awake, just upset about something.

'What's wrong, Lockie?' Mycroft asked and sat on the edge of the bed. He'd expected Sherlock to race downstairs to meet him, and most likely punch him before giving him a hug. 'I thought you wanted to see me?'

'I do,' Sherlock finally mumbled and opened his eyes a little. 'Hi, My.'

Mycroft smiled softly and reached out to ruffle his brother's hair. 'Lockie,' he repeated. 'Move over, I'm tired.'

''Cause you're fat,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Did the walk upstairs tire you out?'

Mycroft just laughed as Sherlock moved aside. The brothers laid down beside each other, and it only took seconds for Sherlock to whimper lightly and roll over. Mycroft opened one arm and tugged the younger boy in, letting Sherlock wrap around him firmly.

'What's wrong, Sherlock?' he asked.

Sherlock sniffed and mumbled, 'John.'

'John? What did John do?'

'He's stupid.'

Mycroft frowned as he looked down at his brother. Sherlock hadn't been mentioning John in their latest emails and texts, but he hadn't mentioned a falling out either. 'Are you two fighting?'

'No,' Sherlock denied but curled closer to his brother.

'Sherlock...'

'He's being stupid,' Sherlock muttered.

'Why don't I go get some ice-cream and hot chocolate, and you can start at the beginning?' Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock nodded and let him get up. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, legs going to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and watched Mycroft walk across the room.

'Get into your pyjamas,' Mycroft said when he reached the door, 'I'll change into mine and we can get comfortable.'

'Can we watch _Torchwood_?' Sherlock asked. 'I still haven't seen it all.'

Mycroft hesitated before finally nodding. Sherlock was twelve, after all, and _Torchwood_ wasn't _that _violent. Sherlock would be able to handle it.

'I'll grab the DVDs,' he said and left.

{oOo}

'What're you up to?' Greg asked when Mycroft walked into the kitchen wearing pyjama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt.

'Sherlock's upset so we're going to eat ice-cream and hot chocolate,' Mycroft said as he went to the kettle.

Greg cocked his head. He and Mrs Hudson were sitting at the kitchen table eating some leftovers from dinner; Greg hadn't had a chance to eat after his shift before falling into bed for some much needed rest.

'What's up with him?' Greg asked.

'John, apparently,' Mycroft replied and took two large mugs from the cupboard above his head.

'They fighting?'

'I don't know,' Mycroft said. 'Sherlock just said he's stupid, he hasn't told me much more.'

'John hasn't been around a lot lately,' Mrs Hudson said and the two young men looked at her. 'I think they drifted apart a bit when they started high school.'

'Seriously?' Greg asked. 'They've been inseparable since they met.'

'People grow up and change,' Mycroft sighed. 'I'm hoping it's just some small fight they can work out.'

'If you need anything, give us a shout,' Greg said.

'You can get the ice-cream out and some spoons,' Mycroft replied with a cheeky smile.

Greg chuckled and stood to do as asked, giving Mycroft a kiss when he was done. He carried the ice-cream up to Sherlock's bedroom, Mycroft's hands full with the hot chocolate. Sherlock, wearing pyjama bottoms, one of Mycroft's old t-shirt's, and his blue dressing gown, scowled at Greg when he walked into the room but said a quiet hello. Greg didn't stay long, going back downstairs to finish his dinner after Mycroft went to get the _Torchwood _DVDs. He was sure Mycroft could make Sherlock feel better.

Mycroft put the first disk of series one into Sherlock's DVD player and switched everything on before joining Sherlock in bed. The brothers crawled under the blankets, got comfortable, and Mycroft handed over Sherlock's hot chocolate. It had little marshmellows and sprinkles floating around the top; Sherlock's favourite.

'Now, are you going to tell me what's going on, or are you going to wait until ice-cream?'

Sherlock grumbled something in reply and Mycroft smiled.

'Ice-cream it is,' he said and sipped his drink before settling back.

They were halfway through the second episode, and sharing the tub of ice-cream, when Sherlock huffed and threw his spoon into the tub. 'John's so _stupid_!'

_Here we go, _Mycroft thought. Out loud he asked, 'Tell me what happened.'

'He started playing football,' Sherlock grumbled, 'and he's popular- all the boys like him 'cause they think he's cool, and all the girls like him 'cause they think he's _cute_ and _sweet_. And John _is _sweet so he always talks to everyone and gets their numbers and stuff, and then he talks to them _more _because he starts to like them back. And the more friends he gets the more time he spends with them, and he stopped spending time with me!

'It's always excuses with him, when he bothers to come up with them,' Sherlock complained. 'He's got homework or football practice or he's spending time with Mary or Sarah or Michael or Lance. And nobody likes me 'cause they think I'm too smart and weird, and I don't want to spend time with them 'cause I don't like _them _either, so John goes by himself!

'And he likes them better, Mycroft!' Sherlock's voice suddenly went quiet and he stared at his duvet, his fingers tracing the patterns on the material. 'He'd rather play football with Michael and go to the movies with Sarah. And a big group of them always go to the park or shopping centre and I'm never invited 'cause I'm a freak.'

'You're not a freak, Sherlock,' Mycroft finally spoke.

Sherlock sniffed and rubbed his eyes. 'Am,' he mumbled.

'No, you're just different,' Mycroft said. He picked up the tub of ice cream and set it on the end table before turning back to his brother. 'Being different isn't a bad thing, Sherlock. But most people don't know how to deal with different; it scares them, so they make fun of it and push it away.'

'They're scared of how smart I am,' Sherlock said.

'Exactly,' Mycroft said. 'And I...' he sighed, 'Sherlock, that'll never change, because adults aren't much better than twelve-year-olds.'

'I don't care if people hate me,' Sherlock grumbled, 'but John hates me too.'

'He doesn't hate you, he's just... he's young, Sherlock,' Mycroft told his little brother. 'He's just having fun with other people, that doesn't mean he's not still your friend.'

'But he never hangs out with me any more.'

Mycroft wet his lips before asking, 'Do you ever make the effort?'

'Yes!' Sherlock snapped. 'I did in the beginning, but he always says he has other stuff to do, so I stopped trying. Why should I try when John just keeps hurting me?'

He turned away, not wanting Mycroft to see him cry. Not that he _was _crying; Sherlock didn't cry, thank you very much. His eyes were just... itchy.

Mycroft processed the information quickly before saying, 'Sherlock... John doesn't seem like the type of person to stop talking to you, his best friend, just to make new friends.'

'Well he is,' Sherlock sniffed.

'Did anything else happen before all of this?' the older Holmes asked. 'Did you notice John getting upset with you?'

Sherlock frowned as he thought. There wasn't anything, John had just suddenly started spending less and less time with him, always making excuses and...

'Well...' Sherlock's frown deepened, 'he doesn't like Molly much.'

'Molly?' When Sherlock nodded, Mycroft asked, 'Who's Molly?'

'Molly Hooper, she's in most of my classes at school,' Sherlock explained. 'She really likes me, I don't know why, and she's always talking to me and hanging around me during lunch and stuff. John never really liked her. He started spending more time with other people when Molly started following me around.'

A smile spread across Mycroft's face before he could stop it. Dear God, it was a simple case of jealousy.

'Why are you smiling?' Sherlock demanded. Mycroft chuckled. 'Mycroft!'

'Sherlock, you're jealous of John's new friends.'

'So?' Sherlock grumbled.

'John's jealous of Molly,' Mycroft explained.

Sherlock frowned. 'What?'

'Don't you see?' Mycroft continued. 'You started spending time with Molly and John get jealous; he must have thought you didn't want to hang out with him, that _you _were making a new friend. So he did the same thing. He made excuses and spent time with others because he didn't want to spend time with you and Molly.'

Sherlock's frown deepened. 'But that's stupid! Molly's just a girl who follows me around, she's not Jawn!'

'John doesn't know that, Lockie,' Mycroft chuckled. 'Tomorrow I want you to call John and explain to him that he's your best friend; you're not replacing him with Molly. And tell him how much he hurt you by ignoring you. You'll both apologise and everything will go back to normal.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. It couldn't be that simple, could it?

'It _will _be that simple, Little Brother,' Mycroft assured. He reached over to ruffle Sherlock's hair and Sherlock squawked as he tried to push him away.

'Stop it, Mycroft!'

'No,' the teenager replied and used his longer reach to continue messing up his brother's hair.

'Mycroft!' Sherlock shouted in annoyance, but of course that just spurred Mycroft on. In next to no time he had his brother pinned to the bed and was tickling his sides. Giggles and swear words erupted from Sherlock's mouth, and Mycroft grinned as his little brother thrashed about on the bed. 'Mycroft, you b-ba-ahaha-astard! Lemme up, le-lemme up! _Noooo_!

'What's the magic word?' Mycroft asked.

'Fatty!' Sherlock replied. He tried to wriggle away but Mycroft had his thighs pinned to the bed with one leg, and he was using an elbow to keep Sherlock's shoulders down. 'When I get bigger, I'm... haha... g-gonna... eheheh... kill you!' Sherlock threatened through his laughter.

'I look forward to it, Lockie,' Mycroft smirked. 'Now say the _real _magic word and I'll let you up.'

'Never!' Sherlock shouted. Mycroft dug his fingers into Sherlock's ribs and the younger boy shrieked, 'Mycroft's the best, Mycroft's the b-best!'

'And?' Mycroft prompted.

'He's... awesome a-and... cool and... smarter than me!'

'There you go,' Mycroft smiled and finally let his brother up. Sherlock stayed sprawled across the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly which each laboured breath.

When he could move he climbed onto his knees and said, 'You're a fat bastard!'

'Want me to tickle you again?'

'Just try,' Sherlock grinned.

Mycroft jumped at him but Sherlock scrambled away and ran laughing to the bedroom door. He ripped it open and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Mycroft groaned as he leapt to his feet. It was almost midnight, a bit too late to be chasing his brother around the house. He was halfway down the hallway when he noted that his own bedroom door was open and walked into the room.

Greg was in bed watching TV and smirked when he saw his boyfriend. 'Looking for something?' When Mycroft nodded, Greg said, 'He's hiding under the bed.'

'Thanks for nothing, Lestrade!' Sherlock's muffled voice snapped.

'Think of it as payback for all the times you annoyed us,' Greg grinned.

Sherlock wiggled out from under the bed and tried to run, but Mycroft hooked his arms around the younger boy's waist and lifted him.

'Lemme go!' Sherlock shouted and flailed about.

'Nope,' Mycroft answered and dropped him onto the bed. Sherlock clambered over Greg's legs and hid beside him.

'Aww, want me to hide you from the big meanie?' Greg asked.

'He _is _big,' Sherlock muttered and curled up beside Greg. Greg wrapped an arm around him and Sherlock yawned. 'What are you watching?'

Mycroft smiled at the picture Sherlock and Greg made. Normally Sherlock wouldn't let anyone comfort him, but apparently it'd been a long few weeks, and Sherlock needed somebody to take care of him.

'Shall I go get the ice-cream?' he asked.

''Course you want ice-cream,' Sherlock grumbled but didn't say no.

Greg chuckled as Mycroft disappeared to get it.

'And get _Torchwood_!' Sherlock shouted after him.

'Brat,' Greg commented.

'Bastard,' Sherlock replied.

{oOo}

Sherlock eventually fell asleep in Mycroft's bed after his brother made him brush his teeth. He remembered cursing big, stupid brothers and their equally stupid boyfriends before he drifted off. He then had the vague memory of Mycroft carrying him to bed, but he'd been too tired to care.

It was still dark when he woke up, and cold, and Sherlock frowned as he rolled over to look at his alarm clock. 4:56am.

'What...' he mumbled before he noticed his iPhone was lit up. He frowned and sat up only far enough to grab the mobile before once more tunnelling under the warm blankets. He had one message from Jawn.

Sherlock's frown deepened. Why would John be texting him at 5am?

**I'm outside.**

Okay... that wasn't odd or anything. Sherlock shifted about until he could tap out a reply;

_What?_

_S_

John replied quickly;

**I'm outside, can you let me in? It's cold.**

Sherlock immediately jumped out of bed and stumbled about, using the light from his mobile to find a jumper and pull it on. He carefully opened his bedroom door and tip-toed down the hallway so he wouldn't wake up Mycroft or Greg- or his father, if Siger was home.

He quickly reached the front door and unlocked it.

John was standing on the doorstep shivering, his shoulders and beanie covered in snow. It was still snowing and a few flakes drifted in through the front door.

'Hey,' John murmured, his teeth chattering.

'Come in before you freeze,' Sherlock said and dragged the shorter boy inside. He shut the door and said, 'Let me make you some tea.'

'Sherlock-'

'Tea first,' Sherlock interrupted. He could hear John's reason for walking over so early in the bloody snow after he was warmer. 'Go upstairs and get warm, Jawn.'

John's face lit up at the use of his nickname and he nodded before heading upstairs, while Sherlock went into the kitchen. He'd watched Mrs Hudson enough times to know how to make tea, he just wasn't allowed. He usually spilt something or burnt himself.

He tried hard not to, though, and managed to make a hot cup of tea for his Jawn with minimum spillage and no burns. He walked upstairs, taking careful steps so he didn't spill it, and it took him a good five minutes to get back to his bedroom. When he did he shut the door behind himself and found John snuggled under the covers, his wet clothes hanging over the back of Sherlock's desk chair.

'Here,' Sherlock said and put the cup on the end table closest to John.

'Thank you,' John murmured. He used the cup to warm his hands and sighed as he took a sip. 'It's better than the last one you made.'

Sherlock smiled and climbed into bed until he was sitting against the headboard beside John.

'I suppose you're wondering why I'm here, right?'

'An explanation would be helpful,' Sherlock nodded.

John sighed and stared down at his mug. 'I... today was... weird,' he mumbled. 'You were mad at me, weren't you?'

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip. 'No.'

'Sherlock-'

'Not mad,' Sherlock interrupted. He thought about what Mycroft had said. 'Jealous,' he admitted softly.

He glanced over to see John looking confused.

'Jealous of what?' John asked.

Sherlock twisted the duvet between his fingers for about a minute before saying, 'All your new friends.'

'What?'

'All your new friends, John,' Sherlock said a bit louder. 'You've got new friends and you spend all your time with them, and you never have time for me! Am I no fun anymore?'

'Sherlock, of course you're fun,' John immediately responded. 'You're my best friend.'

'Well you're not acting like it.'

'What about you?' John scowled. 'You're always talking to Molly about... smart stuff. She's smarter than me and you're smart too. Obviously you have more fun with_ her_.'

Sherlock blinked rapidly at the smaller boy. So... Mycroft was right; John _was _jealous of Molly.

'She's just Molly, John, she's not you. We're barely even friends.'

'Don't lie to me,' John grumbled.

'I'm not lying,' Sherlock said and scooted closer. 'Honestly, you're my Jawn; she's just some girl who follows me around for some reason.'

John snorted. 'Some reason?'

Sherlock had no idea what he was talking about, so moved on. 'You're my _Jawn_,' he insisted. 'I like talking to Molly about science and stuff, but you're lots more fun. I have a billion times more fun with you.'

John chewed on his bottom lip and asked, 'R-Really?'

'Of course I do!' Sherlock insisted. 'We watch TV and read stuff together, and we catch bugs and do experiments, and we spent years annoying Mycroft and now we annoy Mrs Hudson, and she still makes us biscuits and we eat them all, and... we do everything together, Jawn! Molly has nothing on you, you're loads better.'

'I am?' John asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Sherlock nodded quickly. 'And... um... you're better too, you know,' John said. 'I mean, I like my other friends, but they're not you.'

It was Sherlock's turn to ask, 'Really?'

''Course, don't be stupid,' John said and Sherlock smiled softly. 'You're my best friend, Sherlock,' John continued. 'I'm sorry I upset you.'

'I'm sorry too,' Sherlock said, 'honest.'

'Apology accept,' John grinned.

'So we can go to the movies and watch TV and go back to doing experiments together?' Sherlock asked hopefully.

John leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock felt himself blush; Jawn hadn't kissed his cheek since they were little.

'I promise,' John said.

'Okay,' Sherlock replied. He moved until they were pressed against each other and wrapped one arm around his Jawn's shoulders. 'Drink your tea, Jawn, you've gotta warm up.' John obediently sipped his tea, even though Sherlock hadn't put any milk in it. It was still good, 'cause Sherlock had made it just for him.

'M'sorry I came over so early, but I couldn't sleep,' John murmured from against Sherlock's shoulder.

'I don't care, I always like seeing you.'

John smiled.

'You can stay here and have breakfast with us, and then Mycroft can drive you home,' Sherlock continued.

'M'kay,' John said and took another gulp of tea. He let his eyes wander around Sherlock's dark room and suddenly realisation hit him. 'Merry Christmas, Sherlock.'

Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of John's head. 'Merry Christmas, Jawn.'


	4. Thirteen-Years-Old

**PART IV**

**Thirteen-Years-Old**

* * *

'Are you sure you have to go?'

Sherlock sighed. He stuffed his last book into his bag, zipped it up, and hoisted it over one shoulder. 'I already told you, my father's actually home for a few days and we have to have family dinners every night of Mycroft's stay.'

John chewed on his bottom lip as he slid from the table he'd been sitting on. He and Sherlock only shared one class; music. While Sherlock had taken up the violin the year before- and proven to be quite talented- John was still struggling, first with the piano, and next with the guitar. Mycroft had been playing the piano since he was six and had offered to tutor John, and Greg had even offered to give him guitar lessons, but they lived in Oxfordshire and only visited for holidays; they weren't around enough for the lessons to really matter. Plus, John was kind of hopeless when it came to playing instruments. Sherlock found it cute, John hated it.

They had music sixth period on Fridays, and usually spent the time giggling in the back of class and screwing around, while the two girls who sat before them scowled and flipped their hair about in annoyance. It was always a good end to the day, but it seemed the knowledge that John wouldn't be seeing Sherlock until Saturday afternoon had brought the whole afternoon down.

'I really don't want to spend the entire night with my family, John,' Sherlock said as the teacher, Mrs Higgins, checked her watch and scowled at them from the door. 'I'd much rather hang out with you, you know that, but Father's insistent on us spending quality time together.' He scowled at the last few words. He really didn't want to spend time with his twenty-year-old brother, who had grown bloody _boring _since starting university. And Mycroft didn't seem particularly keen to spend hours with a thirteen-year-old, but they didn't have a lot of choice. Between Siger and Mrs Hudson, they were screwed.

'It sucks,' John grumbled. They finally left the classroom, Mrs Higgins glaring after them as they walked down the corridor, as though waiting around for three minutes had ruined her day. Sherlock wanted to spin around and flip her off, but he was already on probation after yelling at his maths teacher three days in a row. It wasn't his fault Mr Braeden was an idiot.

'I know,' Sherlock agreed, 'but there's nothing I can do.'

John sighed and ran a hand through his short, sandy-coloured hair. He looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, and continued staring as they made their way towards Sherlock's locker. He'd been doing it a lot lately and Sherlock didn't know why. What was so interesting about his face that John had to constantly stare at him? He was like Molly with his staring and it was a bit... well, weird.

They reached Sherlock's locker and both were silent as Sherlock swapped his books around, grabbing what he needed to do his homework over the weekend. A dozen conversations from the students still walking around drifted over them, and Sherlock subconsciously deduced a few things about his classmates before shutting his locker and re-shouldering his bag.

They made it all the way to John's locker on the other side of the building before John spoke. 'So we're still on for tomorrow, right?'

'Unless something comes up,' Sherlock nodded. 'I have to meet with Molly and Michael about our English presentation, but we agreed to meet at the library at midday, and we should be done by three.'

'They're not coming, are they?' John asked, throwing Sherlock a wary look, hand poised over his Science textbook.

Sherlock frowned. 'Does it matter if they do?' He didn't really care either way; he'd ignore them if they were there anyway. His main focus, as it had been for years, was Jawn.

'Well...' John hesitated before cramming his book into his bag, 'I just wanted to hang out... you know, just me and you, like normal.'

'Right...' Sherlock's frown deepened, 'I can tell them they're not invited if they ask.'

John's eyes lit up momentarily before he shook his head. 'No, don't be mean, just... um...' He cursed and shut his locker. 'Just try to subtly tell them they're not invited.'

'How do I do that?' Subtlety wasn't really Sherlock's strong point, after all. 'Wouldn't it be easier to just tell them they're not invited?'

'They're your friends, Sherlock, you can't be rude.'

'Why not?'

John chuckled and smiled warmly at him, making Sherlock frown inwardly. John had been doing that a lot lately, too. It annoyed Sherlock to no end that he couldn't figure out _why_.

'Just be nice, okay?' John said. 'Or, um... as nice as _you _can be,' he corrected.

Sherlock sighed. 'Fine, I'll try.'

'Good,' John beamed and they started walking again. John exchanged goodbyes with a few students he knew, but Sherlock was silent for the walk to the front gates. 'Tomorrow, three o'clock outside the movie theatre, right?' John's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Blinking, Sherlock nodded and said, 'I'll see you then, Jawn.'

John smiled. 'Don't forget!' he said and waved as he jogged off towards his bus, which was always one of the first to arrive. Sherlock leaned back against the tall iron fence that surrounded the school as he waited for Mrs Hudson, still mulling over Jawn's strange behaviour.

{oOo}

Sherlock sat at the dining room table scowling at his peas. Peas were disgusting, why would anybody want to eat them? He'd even spied Mycroft nudging his own beneath his mashed potatoes. Despite being twenty-years-old, Mrs Hudson still fussed over the older Holmes brother, and every time Mycroft came home from university she decided he was too skinny. Which made no sense, because Mycroft had gained at least five kilograms since the last time Sherlock had seen him.

The only exercise Mycroft ever got was sex with his boyfriend, so maybe they weren't having as much as they used to, and Sherlock wondered if they were having problems. But Mycroft stilled seemed happy, that stupid smile still on his face whenever Mrs Hudson or Siger asked about Gregory. God, the mushiness was going to send Sherlock insane one of these days.

So that just led Sherlock to believe that his brother was indulging in too much cake to satisfy his sweet tooth. He'd always loved chocolate cake.

Mycroft was currently talking to Siger Holmes about his studies, and though the head of the family noticed that both his sons weren't exactly eating their greens, he ignored it in favour of keeping the peace. God knows he'd dealt with enough tantrums over the years.

'Sherlock, eat your peas, don't stare at them,' Mrs Hudson chided as she re-entered the dining room. She set the fresh jug of lemonade on the table and said, 'Don't make me add double to your plate.'

'Mycroft's not eating _his_!' Sherlock pointed out petulantly.

Mrs Hudson turned her sharp blue eyes on Mycroft, who glared at his little brother. 'I'm eating them!'

'You're hiding them under your potatoes!' Sherlock snapped.

'You little...' Mycroft growled but swallowed whatever swear word he was going to use. It seemed that now he was an adult, no longer a teenager, he was expected to be the grown-up and not indulge in Sherlock's tantrums. Sherlock, of course, took full advantage; he was thirteen, he was expected to be a bastard.

'Did you smuggle some chicken out while Mrs Hudson and Father were setting the table, Mycroft?' Sherlock smirked. 'I'd imagine it's hard to eat your peas after _five _helpings of dinner.'

'Sherlock,' Siger sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd been home all of three days and had so far broken up seven fights between his sons. It didn't help that Gregory hadn't come along on this visit, instead going to Brighton to visit his sister and his new nephew. 'Don't antagonise your brother.'

'He started it,' Sherlock grumbled and slouched in his seat.

'I did nothing of the sort,' Mycroft scowled.

'Did too!'

'Did not!'

'Boys!' Siger snapped and let his fork clatter to the plate. Mycroft and Sherlock instantly went silent, though Mycroft continued to glare at his brother and Sherlock tried to kick his sibling under the table. Unfortunately, he'd yet to have a growth spurt, and couldn't reach.

'That's quite the good impression of a flailing mental patient, Sherlock,' Mycroft smirked. 'Care to tell us why you're doing it? Or are you finally expressing your inner-self?'

'Mycroft,' Siger growled and his eldest sighed. 'Stop it, both of you. Can't we have a nice family meal without you two attacking each other?'

'Ask Mycroft, he started it,' Sherlock muttered.

'Sherlock!' Siger warned.

'Fine!' Sherlock snapped and glared at his plate. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow as his brother went back to pushing his peas around his plate, ignoring Mrs Hudson's suggestions that he eat them. Something was going on with Sherlock, something other than the typical teenage rebellion phase that Mycroft himself had gone through.

He decided to wait until after dinner to ask- if he could catch Sherlock before the little brat ran off and hid- and turned his attention back to his father.

'As I was saying, we're studying a new book in English Literature...'

Sherlock tuned the rest of Mycroft's words out and sighed before stuffing a heap of chicken and mashed potatoes into his mouth- it would shut Mrs Hudson up, at least. His thoughts were swirling around the same subject he'd been stuck on for the past few weeks; Jawn.

{oOo}

Sherlock bolted as soon as dinner was over, and ignored Mycroft's calls for him to stop. Rather than go to his usual hiding places- now that his father was home, he couldn't hide under Siger's desk in his study- Sherlock ran out the back door and across the grass. The moon hung in the sky, bright against the clouds trying to hide it, and Sherlock looked up as he slowed to a walk. It was still warm, nature trying to cling to summer, and Sherlock revelled in being able to enjoy the peaceful night without freezing to death.

Sherlock didn't like nature that much, just what it held; insects that he could catch and study, flowers he could stick under his microscope, and even dirt that he could separate and break down to learn what particles there were. It was too dark to do any of that, though, so Sherlock just walked to the dilapidated shed at the very edge of the lawn and sat on one of the crumbling bricks behind it, out of view of anyone peering through the back windows of the house.

He pulled out his new iPhone as he did- a present from Mycroft for his thirteenth birthday- and found he had three new messages; one from Molly Hooper, one from Michael Dimmock, and one from Jawn;

**make sure u do ur research so we can discus it 2moro xx**

Molly had calmed down a lot in the past few months, Sherlock was happy to note. She no longer followed him around like a puppy, instead only talking to him every now and then, sharing interesting facts she'd learned, or asking him about his experiments. It had cheered John up a lot, now that he no longer had to fight Molly for Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock typed a quick reply- he _hadn't _done his research, but he'd do it in the morning before he met her and Michael (it wasn't like it was _hard_)- and moved on to Michael's text.

**Tell Molly 2 stop textn me bout the presentation, she's drivn me up the wall**

Sherlock smirked. Michael had transferred to their school a few weeks ago, and though he wasn't the brightest person Sherlock had ever met, he was funny and smart enough to keep Sherlock entertained. Plus he thought Sherlock was _brilliant_, which the young genius absolutely loved.

He replied something about the other boy fighting his own battles, it's not like Sherlock was Molly's bloody _keeper_, and opened Jawn's text;

**Hope you and Mycroft haven't killed each other yet. Remember to say hello for me. I'll know if you haven't, Lockie! And remember, movies tomorrow at 3.**

Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the rusty wall of the shed. Jawn had been acting... strange, lately. A bit more clingy, staring at Sherlock, smiling at him, and spending a great deal of time with him, like he thought Sherlock was going to disappear or something. Sherlock regularly made sure that Jawn knew that they were best friends; he didn't want a repeat of year seven when they'd barely spoken for a good month. So it wasn't like Sherlock was neglecting their friendship.

It wasn't that Sherlock _hated _the amount of time they spent together; they'd been inseparable since they were eight. But Jawn had been spending less time with his other friends and more time with Sherlock. He'd even skipped football practice in favour of joining Sherlock, Molly and Molly's sister, Lily, for their science and medical discussions at the library. John liked them enough, he'd even expressed an interest in being a doctor when he grew up, but it was just... really weird. Jawn liked football, and he liked his football friends, so... what the hell was going on?

Cursing, Sherlock stood and turned to the chipped bricks stacked against the shed. He glanced around to make sure he was alone before shifting a few aside and reaching for the plastic bag he'd hidden there weeks ago. He opened it and pulled out an almost full packet of cigarettes.

Jawn hated him smoking. It wasn't like Sherlock smoked all the time- only three or four when he really needed to think. The nicotine sped up his thought process, and that alone made up for the health dangers and the fact that Sherlock was five years too young to be buying them. The older boys at school had no qualms about accepting an extra five or ten quid to supply Sherlock cigarettes.

Sherlock fished out the lighter and sat back down on the bricks. The spark of the lighter igniting filled his vision as Sherlock lit the tip of his cigarette. He sucked in a lungful of smoke as he dropped the lighter back in the plastic bag, tied it up, and hid it again. He sat back down and puffed on his fag, fingers curled around the butt as he stared out at the inky black lawn.

Sherlock wasn't good with people. He could deduce what they'd eaten for breakfast, what their hobbies were, and other small things that made up a bigger picture, yes. But actually understanding why they did things, what made their minds tick... no, Sherlock wasn't good at that.

A part of him wanted to tell Mycroft everything and have his big brother fix it; Mycroft was smarter, older; surely he'd know why Jawn was acting odd. But another part of Sherlock wanted to figure it out himself, because he _was _smart, damn it, and he didn't want to go running to his brother over every problem he had.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Sherlock _could _work it out himself. His Jawn had been acting weird for a good three or four months now, and Sherlock was no closer to figuring it out now than he had been in the beginning. But he really didn't want to run to Mycroft; he had to learn to do things himself and not rely on big brother to fix everything.

But who else could he ask?

Sherlock suddenly thought of Greg, who was pretty normal as far as people went. Sherlock really didn't want to call him for _help_, but he didn't want to ask Mycroft, either. Greg liked football, just like Jawn did, and they had similar personalities. So maybe Greg knew what was wrong with Jawn. And asking Gregory for help was different to asking Mycroft- it wasn't like Sherlock had to even _try _to be smarter than Greg, so... asking Greg for help wouldn't be as humiliating as asking Mycroft.

Nodding firmly to himself, Sherlock flipped through his contacts and tapped on "Greg Lestrade".

He pressed the iPhone to his ear and took another drag of his cigarette as he listened to it ring. It didn't take long for Greg to answer, with a, '_Did you kill my boyfriend?_'

Sherlock snorted, 'No, but I might. He's a prat.'

'_He's _my _prat_,' Greg responded over someone shouting in the background, '_and I'm really fond of him, so return him to me unharmed, and I won't arrest you when I become a cop_.'

'Ooh, I'm scared, Lestrade,' Sherlock drawled and inhaled another lungful of smoke. He blew it above his head and watched the grey smoke slowly disappear into the night sky.

'_You should be_,' Greg said. '_Anyway, if you didn't hurt the love of my life_-' Sherlock wrinkled his nose. Seriously? What the hell was wrong with people in love? It was like it made them all... stupid. Well, _stupider. _'_- is there a reason you called?_' Greg asked.

'I'll answer that if you answer _my_ question,' Sherlock said.

There was a pause before, '_Okay... that's not weird or anything. Then again, you're always weird, so whatever; what's your question?_'

Sherlock scuffed at the grass and dirt beneath his feet. 'Promise you won't tell Mycroft what we're about to talk about?'

'_Why?_'

''Cause it's private,' Sherlock said.

Greg paused again and Sherlock faintly heard a baby crying on the other end of the phone; Gregory's baby nephew, no doubt. '_Okay_,' Greg repeated about a minute, '_I promise if it's nothing really, _really_ serious, I won't tell Mycroft._'

'Good.'

'_Sherlock, if you're in some kind of trouble, you should tell your brother_.'

'I'm not in trouble,' Sherlock rolled his eyes. As soon as he'd turned thirteen it was like everyone expected him to grow another head and start acting like a lunatic. Being a teenager didn't automatically make him a crazy person. 'I just want your advice,' Sherlock admitted.

'My _advice?_' Greg asked. '_Seriously?_'

'Yes, Lestrade, seriously,' Sherlock sighed. His cigarette had almost burned out and he quickly sucked in the last few drags before stubbing it out and pocketing the butt. 'Can we move on now?'

'_Yeah, go ahead,_' Greg said. '_I'm all ears, Lockie_.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the nickname but took a deep breath. 'It's... I don't even know, it's just... well... Jawn's been acting weird lately,' Sherlock admitted.

'_How do you mean?_' Greg asked.

'He... um...' Sherlock frowned as he tried to put his observations into words. 'He stares at me a lot when I'm not looking; like, I'll catch him just staring at me from the corner of my eye.'

'_Right..._'

'And he smiles weirdly at me. Not like he used to,' Sherlock said. 'It's... the smiles are just weird! His nose scrunches and he gets a stupid look in his eyes.' Sherlock ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 'He's always texting me and wanting to hang out, more than we already do, and he's skipping football practice and hanging out with his other friends to spend time with me.

'And I like it, really I do,' Sherlock said, ''cause Jawn's awesome and we always have fun, but I don't know why he's doing it. I don't like Jawn acting weird, because it makes me feel like something's wrong, but I don't know _what_. It's just small things that add up to... weirdness!' Sherlock didn't know how to explain it any better. It was just a feeling in his gut that something wasn't right, and it was _Jawn_; Sherlock didn't like that there was something off about his Jawn, and he wanted to fix it. 'Does any of that make sense?' Sherlock asked, because it sure as hell didn't to _him_.

'_Yeah, it made sense,_' came Greg's voice, and Sherlock could imagine the young man nodding along to his words. '_You're saying that John's changed a bit lately, just around you, and you don't know why_.'

'Exactly,' Sherlock said. 'It's making me feel weird, I want Jawn to go back to normal.'

'_Okay, just let me think here..._' Greg mused. '_So John stares at you, smiles a lot at you, and wants to spend a lot of time with you- more than usual. Am I with you so far?_'

'Yes,' Sherlock nodded, even though Greg couldn't see him.

'_Hmm..._' Greg hummed. '_What kind of smiles?_'

Sherlock frowned. 'I don't know.'

'_Well, what makes the smiles different to his normal ones?_' Greg asked.

'Um...' Sherlock tilted his head as he flipped through his mental images of Jawn's smiles. 'His whole face changes when he smiles, it gets... I dunno... warmer, softer, like he's seen something he really likes. Only it's my face, so I don't get why he'd look like that. He knows what I look like and he's never smiled like that before.'

There was silence on the other end before a soft chuckle reached Sherlock's ears. The teenager frowned.

'Are you laughing at me?'

'_A little bit,_' Greg admitted. Well, Sherlock had to credit him for being honest. Greg cleared his throat and said, '_So, Sherlock... um... you remember when me and Mycroft started dating?_'

Sherlock scowled. 'What the fuck does that have to do with Jawn?'

'_Just answer the question, it'll help,_' Greg said quickly. '_Do you remember?_'

'Of course I do,' Sherlock groaned, 'you were all over each other being disgusting.'

Greg chuckled again. '_Yeah, well, not much has changed._' Sherlock shook his head. He didn't need the mental images, thank you very much! '_Anyway_,' Greg said, '_do you remember how we used to look at each other?_'

'What?'

'_How did we look at each other back then?_' Greg asked. '_Hell, how do we look at each other _now_?'_

Sherlock frowned as he thought, again flicking through images he'd stored in his mind over time. He didn't particularly like watching Mycroft and Greg be all coupley with each other, but he _did _like seeing his brother happy. And he was always really happy when he was with his boyfriend.

'Um...' Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip, 'you smile stupidly at each other, like just seeing each other makes you happy.'

'_Okay,_' Greg said, '_now, is there any chance at all that John's smiles are a bit like that?_'

Sherlock's entire body went rigid, eyes widening as he stared at the dark grass before him. As soon as the words had left Gregory's mouth, Sherlock's mind was matching the images, and... and... they _matched_. John had the same stupid smile on his face that Greg and Mycroft wore whenever they looked at each other... and that stupid smile was because of _Sherlock_.

But... but that didn't make any sense. Why would Jawn look at him like that? He'd never looked at him like that before, and they'd been best friends for five years. Why would Jawn suddenly start smiling like that? Over _Sherlock_?

'_Sherlock?_' Greg's voice reached Sherlock's ears. '_You okay there?_'

'Uh...'

'_John's got the same smile me and Mycroft get, right?_'

'Y-Yes,' Sherlock stuttered.

'_And what does that tell you, Sherlock?_' Greg asked patiently.

'I... um...' Sherlock's mind had stalled, unable to process what was happening.

After a few minutes of vague mumbling from the teenager, Greg realised he wasn't going to get it and decided to cut to the chase. '_It sounds like John has a crush on you, Sherlock._'

Sherlock almost fell off the bricks he was sitting on and braced one hand against the shed. 'What?!'

'_John fancies you,_' Greg stated.

'F-Fancies me?' Sherlock said, voice filled with disbelief.

'_As in, he wants to hold your hand, kiss you, be your boyfriend_,' Greg told him.

'But... but...' Sherlock continued to stutter.

'_He's smiling at you like that because being with you makes him happy_,' Greg continued. _'He wants to spend more time with you, _alone_, because then he gets you all to himself. He's acting like a boy with his first crush. And believe me, I know; I acted like an idiot around Mycroft for weeks before telling him I fancied him_.'

Sherlock... Sherlock had _no _idea what to say to that.

'_Look, Sherlock, I know this is a lot to process, and you probably need someone to talk to about it_,' Greg continued, his voice suddenly hurried,_ 'but there's not much more I can do. Either you accept it and talk to John about it, or you ignore it until John gets over it or tells you. I've gotta go help my sister with Dean, but you call me if you start freaking out, okay?_'

Sherlock barely heard the words but must have murmured something in reply, because soon the dial tone was blaring in his ear. He lowered his mobile and continued to stare at the grass, like it held all the answers to his questions.

Jawn... Jawn _couldn't _fancy him, could he? They were best friends, that was it! And Jawn liked girls, he'd even said he found Sarah Sawyer, one of his other friends, kind of cute. And... and Sherlock didn't _do _that stuff. Jawn knew that, so what the hell was he doing?

'Fuck!' Sherlock cursed. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, _fuck_!'

He leapt to his feet and tugged the bricks hiding his cigarettes aside. If there was ever a time to pump his bloodstream full of nicotine and other chemicals, this was it. Sherlock needed to think, to sort this out. Because Greg had to be _wrong_. Jawn couldn't fancy _him_, he just couldn't! Sherlock would figure out the real reason, fix it, and Jawn would go back to normal.

Sherlock lit a smoke and took a long, deep drag, blowing smoke above his head, and immediately went back for another lungful.

He really didn't want to think about Greg being right.

{oOo}

Mycroft finally found his brother in his bedroom a few hours after dinner. He was sitting on the sofa beneath the large window and had his legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, his chin resting on his knees.

'I know you don't like me, Sherlock, but usually you're at least a little happy to see me,' Mycroft said. He leaned against the door-frame and folded his arms. 'Care to tell me why your dislike has grown?'

Mycroft had to acknowledge that their relationship had changed a lot in the past year and a bit. He and Sherlock had always had an antagonist relationship, but it seemed to have gotten worse lately. It was probably due to Mycroft having moved out of home, and Sherlock hitting puberty.

Though Mycroft wasn't sure his brother _had _hit puberty yet. He was still short for his age, and hadn't noticed girls- or boys- yet, at least not to Mycroft's knowledge, and neither Mrs Hudson or Siger had mentioned anything to contradict his thoughts. Mycroft himself hadn't paid any attention to either sex until he was fifteen and a boy in his debate team had caught his eye.

Even Siger had admitted that girls hadn't caught his attention until he was fourteen, so maybe the Holmes men were just late bloomers. And hadn't _that _been an awkward conversation for fourteen-year-old Mycroft? He supposed he'd be the one to talk to Sherlock about sex when the time came, because Siger Holmes was horrible at it.

Mycroft had got the standard "treat your partner with respect and use a condom" speech from his father, and the whole thing had left him feeling slightly disturbed. He wondered if other people felt the same way when their parents had the sex talk with them, or if Siger was really just terrible at talking about those kinds of things with his son.

Then again, maybe Sherlock would never notice either sex. He didn't seem the type to settle down and have a family; Mycroft couldn't even imagine his brother with anyone at thirty. _Unless it's John, _Mycroft mused as he continued to stare at his brother. When it became clear that Sherlock wasn't moving from his sofa, Mycroft pushed himself off the door-frame and walked into the room.

'Want to tell me what's bothering you, Little Brother?' he asked as he approached.

'Nothing,' Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft snorted. 'And here I thought you were a better liar than that, Lockie.'

'Don't call me that,' Sherlock muttered and scowled at his brother.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. 'Okay, Sherlock, you have my attention. What's wrong?' Sherlock sighed. 'Seriously, Little Brother, you're beginning to worry me.'

Sherlock sighed again and his bright blue eyes shifted to stare sullenly at Mycroft's socked feet. 'Jawn fancies me,' he mumbled.

Mycroft's eyebrows jumped. Okay, _not_ what he had expected. Not _really_ surprising, but unexpected nonetheless. He'd thought it would take a few more years until Sherlock and John noticed each other in _that _way. Then again, kids were growing up too fast lately. It seemed even eleven-year-olds had boyfriends and girlfriends these days.

'What makes you say that?' Mycroft asked.

'Jawn's been acting weird lately, always smiling at me and wanting to hang out more,' Sherlock explained. 'I called Gregory and he said it sounded like Jawn fancied me.'

'Okay, start at the beginning,' the elder Holmes said and sat beside his brother.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but told Mycroft what he'd told Greg; about how John had started acting weird, always smiling and staring at Sherlock, spending more and more time with him, reminding him three or four times of when they had plans, making sure Sherlock wouldn't forget. Mycroft stayed silent the entire time and leaned back, arms folded across his chest, when Sherlock finished.

'He doesn't fancy me, does he?' Sherlock asked, looking desperate for Mycroft to disagree with Gregory's conclusion. 'We're just friends- Lestrade has it wrong, right?'

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with my boyfriend, Sherlock.' Mycroft watched as Sherlock's face dropped. 'Why is it so bad that John has a crush on you?'

'Because I don't _do _that!' Sherlock snapped. 'I don't like people in that way, Mycroft! And Jawn's my best friend, what if this ruins it? What if he doesn't want to just be friends when I say no?'

He buried his face in his knees and Mycroft smiled warmly. He reached out to ruffle his brother's hair, and Sherlock didn't pull away.

'I'm sure that won't happen, Sherlock,' Mycroft said softly. 'You and John have a strong friendship.'

'But I don't wanna hurt him,' Sherlock said, voice muffled.

'I know you don't, but it's unavoidable,' Mycroft told him. 'John cares about you, you know that, and he'll hopefully accept that you can only be friends.' He paused and wet his lips. 'Are you sure you don't feel the same way about him?'

Sherlock's head shot up and he fixed his most scathing glare on his brother. 'No!' he said shortly.

'Okay,' Mycroft nodded. 'Then all you can do, as I said, is talk to him. Ask him if he likes you, and if he says yes, just tell him the truth; that you don't feel the same way, but you still care about him, and you want to remain best friends. Hopefully that will be enough for him.'

'And if it's not?' Sherlock asked.

A sad smile passed over Mycroft's face. 'All you can do is move on and hope, Sherlock.'

Sherlock re-buried his face, feeling his chest tighten at the very thought of losing his Jawn. It was like year seven all over again. He didn't want to lose Jawn; Jawn was his best friend, the most important person in Sherlock's life. What would he do without him?

'It sucks,' Sherlock mumbled.

'I know,' was all Mycroft said.

{oOo}

'What's wrong, Sherlock?'

He was really getting sick of hearing that. Mrs Hudson had asked him at breakfast, and even Siger had noticed that something was off with his youngest, though thankfully hadn't said anything. And now Molly was asking, looking all worried. Sometimes Sherlock hated the human race.

'Nothing,' he bit out and slapped his folder on the table. 'Here's my research, all done.'

Michael Dimmock raised his eyebrows at the biting tone but didn't comment, instead pulling his own papers from his backpack. 'Erm, so...' he cleared his throat. 'We gotta give a six minutes speech, right? Are we doing two minutes each, or...?'

'Or Molly gives a one minute introduction, I handle the body, and you do the conclusion,' Sherlock said, tapping at the table. He needed a cigarette. 'How's that?'

'Doesn't seem fair,' Molly began.

'I'm all for it,' Michael grinned. 'Only a minute? Yes please!'

'I'll write it up,' Sherlock said and stood. He was meeting John in three hours, but that didn't seem enough time to prepare himself for the conversation he may or may not be having with his best friend. He wanted the weird behaviour to stop, but he didn't want to confirm that Jawn fancied him. It would ruin everything, he just knew it.

'Sherlock, we're supposed to work together,' Molly argued.

Michael rolled his eyes and stood too. 'Hey, if Holmes wants to write it, I ain't gonna complain. There's a footy game in the park and I was gonna miss it for _school work_.' He wrinkled his nose and shouldered his backpack. 'Later!' he called and hurried away before Molly could stop him.

'Why are all boys so lazy?' she demanded and started packing up her stuff.

Sherlock just shrugged, said he'd see her later, and followed after Dimmock. He wondered if he should go to the park too; John would probably be playing football. And wouldn't it be better to have the conversation _before _they went to the movies? Sherlock was supposed to be staying at John's that night- Siger had finally conceded defeat, realising that forcing his sons to spend every night together was just asking for war- and had said yes before Sherlock had got the question out. Sherlock didn't want to be stuck at John's if the older boy got angry and decided they couldn't be friends anymore.

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his eyes as he turned on the spot and headed towards the park. He just knew this entire thing was going to blow up in his face. But if he didn't say anything, John would continue to act weird, and Sherlock was sick of it.

_I'll probably end up alone like before Jawn moved here, _Sherlock thought glumly as he trudged along. And this time he didn't have Mycroft around all the time to make him feel better. Well... at least he had Molly and Michael, even if they weren't his Jawn.

{oOo}

John was playing football with some of the boys who were on the school team with him. There was a group of girls sitting on one of the picnic tables nearby giggling to each other and smiling whenever the players looked their way, and Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he watched. God, he really hated everybody his age... well, he just hated everybody in general, really.

As soon as John spotted him he called out that he was taking a time out and ran over. He was wearing shorts and a baggy t-shirt, both stained with sweat, and Sherlock once again wrinkled his nose as his best friend reached him. Honestly, why John found running around and getting all hot and sweaty _fun _would forever be a mystery to Sherlock.

'Hi,' Sherlock said when John reached him.

'Hey,' John replied, a bit breathless, a giant grin on his face. Shit, it really was the same look Mycroft sported whenever he laid eyes on Gregory.

_Fuck, fuckity, fuck_, Sherlock thought.

'You need a shower,' he said out-loud and John's grin, if possible, widened.

'Yeah, I'm a bit sweaty,' he nodded. 'Just let me get a drink,'kay?'

Sherlock nodded and watched as John jogged over to his bag, pulling a bottle of water out before grabbing his bag and walking back. Sherlock turned and headed towards one of the free picnic tables, John trailing behind. They sat beside each other and John guzzled half the bottle down, sighing when he was done.

'I thought you had homework with Molly and Dimmock?' John asked.

'Wasn't as long as I thought it would be,' Sherlock murmured. He stared pointedly at the grass, not wanting to look at John. He didn't want to see that smile, or those eyes warm just because of _him_. Of all the nice, sweet, _normal _people John could fancy, he had to go and form a crush on Sherlock. Why? It didn't make any goddamn sense and Sherlock wanted it to go away right now, damn it.

'Sherlock?' John asked, voice soft and worried. 'Are you okay?'

'Fine,' Sherlock grunted.

'Don't lie,' John tisked. 'I know when you're upset. Was Molly being clingy again?'

_No, you are, _Sherlock thought miserably. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to do this? He should have asked Greg. He'd been popular and turned down loads of people once he'd started dating Mycroft; he'd know how to tell John no without hurting his feelings. _Feelings are stupid_, he thought for the billionth time in his young life.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still staring at the ground.

John chuckled and said, 'You've messed up your hair.' He reached out to smooth it down and Sherlock flinched, eyes widening as he looked at John. John hesitated, hand in mid-air, and frowned. 'Um... are you annoyed at me?'

'No,' Sherlock said shortly.

John's frown deepened. 'Don't lie to me, Sherlock.' Sherlock scowled, eyes once more turning to the grass beneath their feet. 'Did I do something wrong?' John asked. 'You can tell me.'

Sighing again, Sherlock curled his fingers into fists and said, 'John, do... do you fancy me?'

John inhaled sharply and Sherlock risked a glance at him. His heart sank; John looked caught, like his biggest secret had just been revealed.

'Crap,' Sherlock muttered.

'I... n-no,' John denied.

'You do. Don't lie to me, John,' he said, echoing his best friend's words.

John finally lowered his hand and folded both in his lap, fingers twisting around each other. An awkward silence descended, both boys looking at anything but each other. Finally John said, 'How'd you find out?'

A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. 'You smile at me like Mycroft and Greg smile at each other.'

John snorted. 'Their relationship just got more annoying.' He bit his bottom lip. 'You don't hate me, do you?'

'What? No!' Sherlock said, head whipping around to look at the shorter boy. 'I could never hate you, John. I just... I don't know why you'd fancy _me_,' he admitted.

John shrugged one shoulder. 'I dunno... lots of things, I suppose. I didn't mean to.'

'I know,' Sherlock murmured.

They fell into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Sherlock let his eyes drift over the boys playing football and the girls giggling about them, while John continued to stare at his lap.

'We're still friends, right?' John asked suddenly. 'Best friends?'

'Of course we are,' Sherlock answered immediately. 'We'll always be best friends, Jawn.'

The use of his nickname seemed to reassure John a bit. 'So you're still coming over tonight? And staying?'

'Yeah,' Sherlock nodded.

John nodded too. 'Good.' He hesitated before asking, 'Um... are you sure you could never, um... like me? In the same way?'

'No,' Sherlock said and John's face fell. 'I'm sorry,' the brunette added, awkwardly.

'S'fine,' John murmured. 'I knew you wouldn't, I just... gotta hope, you know?'

Sherlock shrugged. He didn't really know how to deal with this entire situation, but it seemed to be going okay. Awkward, but okay. Suddenly he stood, wanting at least a few hours to himself. 'I've got homework to do, and stuff,' he said rather weakly.

'I thought we were going to the movies?' John asked, looking up at him.

Sherlock shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 'Maybe another time?'

'You're still coming over tonight, right?' John asked again.

Sherlock nodded. 'Mycroft said he'd drop me off. Six, right?'

'Yeah,' John said. 'Um, okay, so...'

'I'll see you later,' Sherlock said and walked away. He heard John sigh behind him but didn't look back.

{oOo}

'You don't have to go, you know,' Mycroft said when he stopped his car in front of John's house. 'He won't hate you for needing some time.'

'I just want things to go back to normal,' Sherlock said. He'd told Mycroft what had happened, and the elder Holmes had agreed that things could have gone worse. At least they were still friends. Things might be weird for a while, but eventually either John's crush would go away, or Sherlock would suddenly find himself attracted to his best fried. Personally Mycroft hoped for the latter; he didn't think anybody was better suited for his brother than John Watson.

But you couldn't force these things, and Mycroft just hoped that they'd at least remain friends for many years to come.

'Okay,' Mycroft said as Sherlock made sure he had all his things for the night. 'But call me if you need to talk, or if you want me to pick you up. It doesn't matter what time, I'll come get you.'

'Alright,' Sherlock nodded. He opened the door but hesitated before getting out. 'Thank you, Mycroft,' he mumbled.

'Not a problem,' Mycroft said. He watched as his brother got out of the car and took a deep breath before shutting the door. He made sure Sherlock got into the house okay before driving off.

{oOo}

Mrs Watson was making dinner, Mr Watson reading a book in the living room, and Harry was sprawled across the sofa watching some reality TV show. John came out of his room cautiously and smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock returned the gesture, inwardly cringing at how awkward they were acting. He really, _really _hoped things got back to normal soon, he didn't like being weird around Jawn.

'Um... you can put your stuff in my room?' John said, more like a question than a suggestion.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but followed after the older boy. John's family was sure to notice that something was off if they kept acting like this, but there wasn't much else Sherlock could do. He and John had already spoken about it, so...

_Fuck, _Sherlock groaned inwardly. Being a teenager really fucking sucked.

Like usual, John closed the bedroom door after he and Sherlock had entered, and almost immediately looked guilty. 'Um, do you want me to leave the door open?'

Sherlock turned to frown at him as he dropped his bag at the foot of the bed. 'I don't think you're going to maul me, John.'

John laughed nervously. 'Right, no, I didn't think... right.'

'Can you stop being weird now?' Sherlock demanded.

'I dunno how to stop!' John snapped. 'What am I supposed to do, Sherlock? You're my best friend and I fancy you and...' He groaned in annoyance and scrubbed at his face with both hands. 'I'm sorry, I _really _am.'

'Why can't we just go back to normal?' Sherlock asked.

'I dunno,' John repeated, looking said. 'Maybe we just need time?'

'Maybe,' Sherlock murmured and looked away. 'I still don't know why you fancy me,' he complained. It was really annoying him, almost as much as the weirdness between the two of them. Why, out of everyone at their school, would Jawn like _him_?

'I dunno, I suppose it's lots of things,' John said, like he had earlier at the park. 'I mean, you're brilliant, and funny, and cool, and...' he hesitated and Sherlock looked up to see his cheeks turning pink. 'You're cute,' he admitted, looking away.

Sherlock raised both eyebrows. 'No I'm not.' That was just absurd.

'You are,' John said. 'Other people think so, too. Mostly girls, though.'

'We'll they're stupid,' Sherlock said and immediately snapped his jaw shut when hurt crossed John's face. 'I didn't mean you.'

'Yeah you did,' John grumbled.

'I... I'm sorry,' Sherlock said, frustrated. 'I just don't understand.'

'I suppose you never will,' John said and forced a smile. Sherlock frowned. 'Doesn't matter, I'll get over it.'

'Are you sure?'

John nodded. ''Course I will. It's just a crush, right? Crushes go away over time.'

'I wouldn't know,' Sherlock admitted.

John's smile fell at that. Sherlock supposed that was the problem; he didn't feel the same way, and it was hurting his best friend. He didn't _want _to hurt his Jawn, but he couldn't force himself to feel like that. It wouldn't make anybody happy.

'How about we play some XBox?' John said, clearly trying to change the subject. Sherlock didn't particularly like video games, but he nodded in agreement; anything to get over this new awkwardness between them. He wanted things to go back to normal- the sooner the better. So John set up his XBox and they lost themselves in the mindless entertainment, all thought of John's crush forced out of both boys' mind. Neither really wanted to think about it.

{oOo}

They played games until Mr Watson called them in for dinner. The two had managed to fall back into their old ways a bit, laughing and teasing each other. Sherlock relished it; finally, he and Jawn were back to how they were supposed to be! They did some homework after dinner, followed by watching a movie wit John's family. Eventually they were told to go to bed at eleven, and though they both grumbled and complained, they did as asked. Mrs Watson could be scary when she wanted to be.

Like usual, they were sharing a bed, and John hesitated coming back into his bedroom after brushing his teeth. Sherlock was already in the double bed, up against the wall like usual, and he looked up from the book he'd been flicking through.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Um... are you sure you wanna share a bed?' John asked.

Sherlock scowled. 'I already told you, I know you're not going to maul me!'

'Um... 'kay,' John murmured.

Sherlock snapped his book shut and tossed it onto the bedside table before lying down curling into a ball. John hesitated before flicking the light off, and the room was plunged into darkness. Sherlock heard John shuffle across the room and then the mattress dip, the sheets rustle, as John climbed into bed.

After a few minutes of silence Sherlock said, 'John, I trust you, and I don't hate you. I don't want this... this thing to change our friendship.'

'I know,' John murmured.

'Stop acting like I think differently of you,' Sherlock continued. 'You're still my Jawn, and we're still best friends, okay?' He reached out blindly and eventually found one of John's hands. John flinched but relaxed when Sherlock curled their fingers together. 'You're still my Jawn,' he repeated.

'And you're still my Sherlock,' John said, and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice.

'I am,' he agreed. 'So stop being stupid and go to sleep.'

'I'm not stupid!' John immediately retorted.

'Are too!'

'Are not!'

'Don't make me tickle you.'

'I'll just tickle you back.'

Sherlock giggled and John joined him, the two laughing together until Mr Watson knocked on the door and told them to quieten down and go to sleep. They fell into silence after that and Sherlock grinned to himself. Things felt better, now, and he'd never been more relieved in his life.

'I'll stop being stupid, promise,' John murmured sleepily, followed by a yawn.

'Good,' Sherlock said. He squeezed John's fingers and said, 'Go to sleep, stupid.'

'Idiot,' John snapped back.

'Brat.'

'Dork.'

Sherlock snorted and John chuckled. They talked together quietly for a few more minutes before John fell asleep, and Sherlock laid in the dark staring at his best friend, the tension in his chest easing with every passing minute until it was gone. When he finally feel asleep his hand was still linked with his Jawn's, just like it should be.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For anyone reading this story and hoping for future Johnlock romance, have no fear! Just because Sherlock doesn't feel anything now doesn't mean he never will. Remember that people mature at different rates; Sherlock might not feel those kinds of things at 13, but he might at 14 or 15. And Mycroft _did _say that Holmes men are late bloomers. So... keep that in mind :]

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

{Dreamer}


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